


Ambiguity

by honooko



Series: Theatre-verse [1]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Theatre, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Theatre-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 18:39:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 43,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12371703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honooko/pseuds/honooko
Summary: Cha Hakyeon wrote a musical (with his bud Wonshik) and now he needs four other guys to be in it. This is harder than he anticipated. Especially since everyone is having Feelings all over the place.





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> I know I blamed Meilun last time, but I have to do it again because I wrote this basically for her. She tempted me into this fandom with feels, and then cheered me along the whole way, even as the original fic grew into three parts and I wept at my wordcounts.
> 
> ilu Meilun, thank you for giving me VIXX. <3
> 
> PS. Apparently I accidentally included a lot of memes I didn't know existed so, uh. Whoops.
> 
> PPS: I'm on the twitters, same ID as here!

Cha Hakyeon was sitting in the nearly empty auditorium with the sneaking, niggling suspicion that he was in over his head. The script sat in his lap, with colored post-it tabs blooming from the sides of every page, covered in scribbled notations and comments. On the seat next to him, his stage manager-slash-sound designer-slash-whatever else needed doing Wonshik had a clipboard; it was less colorful, but had no fewer scribbles.

As another kid (anyone under senior year was a kid as far as Hakyeon was concerned, and that included sophomore Wonshik) began a shaky, warbling rendition of _I Dreamed a Dream_ , Hakyeon felt a sigh work its way free of his chest.

“Nope,” Wonshik muttered next to him, scratching a name off his clipboard with an almost-violent motion. “Nope, nope, nope.”

“Give him a chance,” Hakyeon chided, but when the boy’s voice cracked into something not unlike a shriek on a high note, he reached over with his own pen to aggressively scratch the kid’s name off over Wonshik’s own line. 

Once the kid finished murdering the classic musical song and bowed (encouraged to leave by Wonshik’s less-than-sincere golf claps) Hakyeon slumped down in his seat.

“This isn’t going well,” he said. Wonshik patted his shoulder reassuringly.

“Don’t give up yet, we’ve still got a few to go,” he said, tapping the clipboard.

“We have six,” Hakyeon corrected. “We need to cast four.”

“This is kind of your fault in the first place though,” Wonshik pointed out. “You’re the one that wrote a musical with four male leads.”

“You’re the one that wrote _four high range tenors_ ,” Hakyeon whipped back.

“Two tenors, one countertenor, and one baritone,” Wonshik corrected. “Well, okay, one flexible baritone.”

“My point stands: we need four male vocalists and so far, we have zero. Unless a miracle happens, I might have to rewrite this entire thing.” Hakyeon leaned down to smack his head against the script. He’d spent the better part of his senior year on it; his advisor had warned him a male-only show was madness, even if the story kind of explained it, but he hadn’t quite grasped how serious a problem just casting would be. Who knew there were so many shitty “singers” residing on campus, waiting for their big stage debut?

“Excuse me,” a clear voice washed out over them. “Where should I put this?” A younger looking man was standing center stage; he had a soft, expressive face, and the way he stood directly under the overhead lights felt confident. He was holding up the microphone.

“In front of your mouth,” Wonshik helpfully supplied. Hakyeon elbowed him. The young man frowned.

“I don’t need it,” he said in a tone that was borderline offended. “This room isn’t that big.” His voice carried easily out to them, which neither Hakyeon or Wonshik failed to notice. Wonshik frowned at his clipboard, making a small notation.

Hakyeon straightened; so far, none of the auditions had turned down a microphone. He waved a hand, leaning forward in his seat.

“Just turn it off and set it down,” he directed. The young man nodded, putting it down gingerly in a way that suggested he knew how easily a microphone could be damaged from mishandling. Hakyeon leaned over and looked at Wonshik’s clipboard.

“Could you introduce yourself, please?” he said, pen hovering over the list of names.

“Lee Jaehwan,” Jaehwan said, still in a crystal-clear tone. “I’m a junior, practical music major.”

“And what will you be singing?” Hakyeon asked, unable to quite keep the enthusiasm out of his voice.

“ _How It Ends_ from _Big Fish_.” Wonshik shifted; it was not an easy song, and judging by the general tone of Jaehwan’s voice so far, he’d have to go up a key from the start, putting him considerably higher on some of the more reaching notes. If he managed it even to a decent level, he’d still be at the top of the list.

Sure enough, Jaehwan started the song a key higher than the song was written, but as it went on, he climbed through the scale with no apparent difficulty. Even better, his projection was _excellent_ and his voice carried smoothly throughout the theater without a microphone. His face was just as expressive as Hakyeon had first thought, and by the time the song ended, Hakyeon jumped to his feet to clap excitedly. Finally. Finally! They had one!

Wonshik grabbed at his elbow, but it was too late. Hakyeon ran down the aisle to the stage, holding his arms out wide.

“You’re cast!” Hakyeon called out. “You’re in, we’ll take you, just—yes!” 

Jaehwan threw his hands into the air and shrieked, “VALIDATION!” before jumping off the stage and running into Hakyeon’s outstretched arms. They hugged and made shrill noises at each other for a few seconds more before Wonshik cleared his throat loudly and waved his clipboard in their direction.

“Mr. Director,” he said, “We have six more auditions left.”

“Oh!” Hakyeon said, “I forgot. Sorry, Jaehwan, could you leave your email and phone number with our stage manager? He’ll get the rehearsal schedule to you and let you know what part we’d like for you.”

“Who’s the stage director?” Jaehwan asked. Wonshik helpfully raised his hand, albeit somewhat shyly; Hakyeon took curious note of this, partly because Wonshik wasn’t really that shy, and partly because Jaehwan’s radiating smile made Wonshik even more nervous-looking. Jaehwan glanced around the empty auditorium before leaning in conspiratorially.

“Can I stay and watch the rest?” he asked in a stage whisper. “I’ll be good, I swear.”

Hakyeon waved a hand at him. “No, you have to wait for the first meeting just like everyone else." Jaehwan gave him a frankly spectacular pout, but made no further attempts to convince Hakyeon, leaving the auditorium with a cheerful wave.

“He seems cute,” Wonshik blurted out as soon as Hakyeon sat down again. “I mean nice.”

“You meant cute,” Hakyeon said cheerfully, patting Wonshik’s knee. “Don’t worry Wonshikkie, I’ll protect your fragile heart from the charms of talented boys.”

“My heart is not fragile!” Wonshik protested, but his blustering was cut off by another young man entering the auditorium. As he moved into the light, both Hakyeon and Wonshik froze. He was handsome. Objectively, subjectively, by male and female standards: this guy was set for life. 

“Sorry, is this—is this where the audition is?” he asked. His voice was pleasant and smooth. Wonshik nodded his head so hard that his snapback slipped.

“This is it!” Hakyeon said brightly. “Just hop up on the stage with the mic and give us what you’ve got!”

The young man climbed in the stage, grabbed the microphone, turned to face them... and stood frozen and silent.

“...Why don’t you introduce yourself?” Hakyeon nudged gently. 

“I’m—Lee Hongbin,” he said. His hands were gripping the mic so tightly his knuckles were white, but he managed to flash a brilliant, dimpled smile. “I’m a sophomore, performance major.”

“And what are you going to be singing?” Hakyeon asked, taking the clipboard out of Wonshik’s hand, since he seemed to be rather distracted with getting his hat back in place. Hongbin’s smile stayed in place, but his eyes went wide and alarmed, leaving him with a manic expression.

“S-sing?” he said.

“...This is a musical,” Hakyeon said. Hongbin’s smile dropped.

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” he said very seriously into the microphone. “I’m—I’ll just see myself out.”

“No!” Wonshik called from his seat with urgency. “Just sing anything!”

“It doesn’t have to be from a musical,” Hakyeon explained patiently, hoping to soothe Hongbin’s nerves.

“I’ve never been in a musical,” Hongbin said. “Just plays.”

“This is a play,” Hakyeon said. “A play with musical numbers.”

“ _I’ve never been in a musical,_ ” Hongbin repeated with more urgency.

“So you’ve prepared a monologue?” Hakyeon said. “Do that then. You can sing after.” Hongbin looked about to refuse, so Hakyeon shouted, “CUE!”

Some things just get drilled into you after you do it enough, Hakyeon noted to himself. Actors are trained by every performance; they learn how to move, how to transition from one emotion to the other, to change their identity entirely and convince the audience that they are real, and not just characters being played. “Cue” had magically triggered that instinct in Hongbin. To his credit, the monologue went well. He got in character seamlessly, and Hakyeon lost track of time, holding his breath. It was a wonderful, if brief, performance.

“That was _great_ ,” he called out once Hongbin had bowed. Wonshik was clapping, but genuinely. “Now you just have to sing a bit!”

“I—”

“What’s your favorite song?” 

“ _Wildflower_ by Park Hyoshin,” Hongbin said instantly. Then, after registering what he’d just said, he added, “I can’t sing it though.”

“Try!” Hakyeon said brightly. “Miracles happen!”

“I don’t—”

“TRY!” Hakyeon repeated. “MIRACLES HAPPEN, HONGBIN!”

“Hyung, chill please,” Wonshik murmured at him.

“ _We need three more people and he’s good,_ ” Hakyeon hissed back.

Looking very much like he was about to be sick, Hongbin sang. Hakyeon listened carefully; Hongbin wasn’t _bad_ by any stretch, but he also wasn’t fantastic. It was clear he didn’t entirely know what his own range was, because the song Hakyeon had bullied him into singing was noticeably higher than what seemed comfortable to him. Usually, a singer would self-adjust, but Hongbin kept powering through a key higher. Hongbin wasn’t going to blow anyone away for some time, but he could be taught, and that was enough for Hakyeon to call it.

Also, he could almost certainly hit low notes that Wonshik wrote in without thinking about logical things like casting.

“You can stop there, thank you,” he said. Hongbin dropped his head, certain he had failed utterly, but Hakyeon continued. “We’d love to have you; please leave your email address and phone number so we can send you the rehearsal schedule. We’re still deciding on parts, but hopefully we’ll have made up our minds by the first meeting!”

“Wait,” Hongbin said, “I passed?”

“Yes!” Wonshik called out. “We—He likes you!”

Hongbin squinted at Hakyeon with an extremely judgmental gaze, as if he thought Hakyeon was utterly off his rocker for this decision and was therefore forever after untrustworthy.

“Like I said before, the monologue was good,” Hakyeon explained. “Your singing isn’t bad; a little extra training and you should do fine.”

“Thanks?” Hongbin said, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “I think?” Hakyeon shot him a double thumbs-up and he went to leave his information with Wonshik. 

The next guy was utterly unremarkable in every way, to the degree that Hakyeon started golf-clapping before the song had ended, because his soul deeply wanted it to be over so he could move on with his life. Wonshik hadn’t even bothered; he seemed to be doodling in the margins next to Jaehwan and Hongbin’s names. For someone who told Hakyeon to chill, Wonshik had exactly negative chill at times, like when he saw two talented people back-to-back and got lost in daydreams about their eyes and dimples (apparently.) 

“Hyung,” Wonshik said after he’d come out of his reverie, “I think you’re going to like this one. Look at his headshot.”

Hakyeon looked, and melted. It was the cutest, sweetest baby freshman he had _ever seen_ with cheeks you could pinch and hair you could fluff and he became aware he was making a noise because Wonshik was putting a hand over his mouth in an attempt to smother him.

“ _He’s a precious baby,_ ” Hakyeon squeaked.

“Hey, is this the audition?”

They looked up. Then down. Then up.

“...Um,” said a tall, broad-shouldered young man. He was very similar to the precious baby thing in the face, but absolutely everything else about him was... definitely a man. “Sorry, I’m Han Sanghyuk? I was supposed to come here for an audition.”

“You need a new headshot, kid!” Wonshik called out. “We were waiting for a little guy!”

“It’s only a year old,” he retorted. “Headshots are expensive.”

“Good god,” Hakyeon said, still holding the headshot. “What did they feed you, pure raw beef steroids?”

Sanghyuk made dinosaur claws with his hands and grinned, answering, “The raw, beating hearts of weaker freshmen.” 

“So... are there any freshmen _left_?!” Hakyeon asked incredulously. Sanghyuk shrugged. 

“Enough to supplement my resident meal plan,” he said, earning himself a half-smothered giggle from Wonshik. “Anyway, are we doing this, or did you cast everything already and I’m only here to make it seem like you’re unbiased?”

“Oh, no, we’ve got roles left. Please, go ahead! What were you starting with, a monologue or a song?”

“Actually,” Sanghyuk said, looking slightly embarrassed for the first time, “I think I’m probably best at dancing, so I thought I’d do that? I can sing later if you want.”

“Dancing?” Hakyeon said, perking up. As much as he loved the work he was doing now with the theater, there was a part of him that would always belong to his first love, dance. If Sanghyuk was any good, this could be inspiring; so far, Hakyeon felt the choreo he’d come up with was somewhat lackluster. Part of it was that Wonshik was still dithering over the music, making secret changes with secret friends in secret places at night (he assumed) so every time Hakyeon thought he was finally getting somewhere, the damn thing was different.

Part of it was that Hakyeon liked choregraphing for himself, and he was not in his own play.

Sanghyuk wasn’t lying; he was a very good dancer. He placed his phone on the ground with the volume maxed so it could be heard. There was an understated measure of power in his movement, showing constant control and restraint, but also an awareness of every part of his performance, from matching the feel of the music, facial expression, and even the placement of his fingers. He also danced in a smooth, masculine way that Hakyeon somewhat envied. Years of modern dance training had left him with elegant lines that always lay against the feminine. Sanghyuk had no such delicacy, but it was still hard to look away.

He ducked his head shyly when the music ended, grinning when Wonshik hooted at him.

“Please tell me you can sing,” Hakyeon said, clasping his hands in front of his heart with a desperate hope. 

“I don’t know any musical songs,” Sanghyuk started, but Hakyeon waved at him, interrupting. 

“That’s fine!” he said, “Any song is fine! Just carry a tune!”

“Okay,” Sanghyuk said. “I guess I’m pretty good at that new Bieber song?” Without further encouragement, he sang. Hakyeon found his voice warm and charming, the kind of voice that pulled a little at your heart and left you wanting to sing along, even if you didn’t know the words. It was more than enough to secure him a casting.

“Han Sanghyuk, you’re in!” Hakyeon said, delighted. 

“Sweet!” Sanghyuk said, shooting Hakyeon with finger guns. “Who am I going to be?”

“Um,” Hakyeon said sheepishly, “We’re still working on the details. Just leave your info with Wonshik and we’ll get back to you.” Sanghyuk was still grinning as he walked up the aisle towards Hakyeon, but when they were almost shoulder to shoulder, he paused.

“Was my singing really okay?” he asked, and for the first time, Hakyeon got a sense of hidden anxiety in his otherwise comfortably confident front. Maybe Sanghyuk had been told he wasn’t good in the past; for a moment could see the sweet-faced freshman in the headshot standing next to him. Hakyeon smiled, putting a hand on Sanghyuk’s elbow.

“It was good,” he said sincerely. “Really.” Sanghyuk shyly ducked his head, unable to completely hide his smile. Once he made his way up to Wonshik, Hakyeon turned his gaze impatiently towards the door; they had one audition left, and it had to be a good one.

Unfortunately, when Sanghyuk strolled out, another guy came in. Hakyeon didn’t even need to hear him open his mouth to know it wasn’t going to work. His suspicions were correct; from a boring monologue, an offensively off-tune musical number, and a complete void of presence and personality, Hakyeon was happy to see him go.

The only problem was they were still one person short, and there were no names on the waitlist; they hadn’t been on the fence about anyone, so it remained blank.

“This is bad,” Hakyeon said, staring at Wonshik’s clipboard in dismay. “This is really bad.”

“Can you cut a part?” Wonshik said with a wince, aware that for Hakyeon, that was like cutting his own baby in half.

“It’s only four roles to start with,” Hakyeon reminded him. “For a musical? That’s ridiculously small.”

“I know I’ve asked before,” Wonshik said, “But Hyung: why did you make this a _musical_?”

“Because it _is_ a musical,” Hakyeon insisted, aware that his explanation didn’t make sense. He hadn’t had a good answer for his advisor either; he couldn’t make them understand that the words he’d written were all musical in his head, notes and songs and melodies, only no instruments. He’d written a sound, but without music. Then he’d carefully let the music back in. Wonshik had been on board since Hakyeon let him see a draft of the script, but even he didn’t entirely get it: it was a musical because Hakyeon was a musical, and the musical was Hakyeon.

“Look,” said Wonshik, putting a heavy hand on Hakyeon’s drooping shoulder, “I... know a guy.”

“And?”

“And he doesn’t... audition.”

“… _and_?”

“He’s good,” Wonshik said. “I mean. He’s really good, he’s just... shy? I guess? He’s really weird sometimes...”

“Wait, are you friends or not?” Hakyeon asked. Wonshik shrugged.

“I think so? Anyway, let me talk to him, see if he’ll come down and just read for you. I can vouch for him musically and I think he gets—your message. It’ll take me a couple of days, but don’t give up yet.”

“Wonshik.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s your message too,” Hakyeon reminded softly. “The words are mine. The music is yours.”

Wonshik blushed a bit, scratching at his ear awkwardly. Hakyeon had meant it; Wonshik was barely getting credits for this project, but he’d still pulled, and continued to pull, ridiculous hours to get the music done. At first. he’d seemed to be in it mostly from pride, as Hakyeon had approached him specifically, but as time went by, Wonshik had his own story to tell, wrapped around Hakyeon’s. 

Hakyeon had never met an artist that didn’t have one.

 

 

Three days later, Hakyeon was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the black-box theater with his notes spread around him like a small tornado had appeared and scattered everything he owned. There was some order to the chaos, but for the most part he’d dumped his files on the floor and tried to sort through them piece by piece. This pile was line-reading notations; that stack was possible blocking; that over-stuffed folder was set design. Hakyeon had ear buds in, listening to the latest edits Wonshik had made on the music as he worked. He was beginning to develop a sense of slightly-sick anxiety over the fact that they had three actors, and four parts.

Hakyeon figured that in an absolute worst-case scenario, Wonshik could take a role and all the technical aspects of the performance would be in Hakyeon’s hands. If that happened, he’d have to scale back a lot of the light and sound design out of sheer necessity. 

Earbuds in and head down, Hakyeon didn’t notice anyone entering the theater space; he only realized someone was there when he reached for the set design folder and found it missing. Looking up, he saw a man sitting across from him, folder in hand, leafing through the pages in total silence.

“Hello,” Hakyeon said. The man looked up.

He said absolutely nothing.

It was actually probably fine that he was silent, because Hakyeon was having an unusually difficult time summoning words. He told himself it was because he was tired, not because the man had a lovely face, sharp and angular, but with a soft mouth and high cheekbones. Interestingly, the longer he stared without speaking, the more flushed his pale skin became. 

“You’re Cha Hakyeon,” the man said suddenly, and Hakyeon felt certain he’d seen this guy before somewhere. He was having a hard time placing him, but there was definitely something familiar to him.

“That’s me,” Hakyeon said. Before he could get any further, the door slammed open to reveal Wonshik, looking frazzled.

“Hyung!” he shouted, “You said you’d wait for me!”

“I said what?” Hakyeon asked, confused.

“Not you,” Wonshik said urgently, pointing at the stranger. “Taekwoon-hyung!”

“I waited,” Taekwoon said, his soft voice carrying quite far, considering. “You took too long.”

“You can’t just _walk into the theater,_ ” Wonshik said. Taekwoon stared at him.

“I just did,” he said as if that cleared him of any and all responsibility. Hakyeon propped his hand on his chin, leaning forwards and staring at Wonshik with a small smile.

“Wonshikkie,” he said, smile growing. “Is this your surprise for me? My fourth?”

“I’m not making any promises, hyung,” Wonshik said, raising both hands defensively. “He’s, uh.” A quick glance in Taekwoon’s direction put him in his direct line of sight, and he fell curiously silent. Taekwoon’s expression was not difficult to read; if Wonshik continued his description, there would be a murder in the theater.

“Can you sing?” Hakyeon asked Taekwoon.

“I wrote half your songs,” Taekwoon informed him. Then, as an afterthought, he jerked a thumb in Wonshik’s direction. “With him.”

Hakyeon glared at Wonshik; he would pay for withholding this information later.

“How about dancing?”

A curt nod was all he got; it was hard to say whether that came off as confident, or merely passable. Hakyeon let it go for now.

“Acting,” he put forth, because that was really the key point; it didn’t matter if you had the voice of an angel; a bad performance would kill it every time. Taekwoon seemed to consider it before shrugging.

“I’ve never tried,” he admitted, still in that soft, barely-there voice.

“I think he could,” Wonshik volunteered. “He’s pretty expressive when singing, so it’s not going to be a huge leap.”

“You said you—you’ve heard our music,” Hakyeon said. “Made some, even. What do you think?”

“It’s good,” Taekwoon said. When he failed to elaborate in any form, Hakyeon pushed a stack of paper out of the way and lay down face-first on the floor. He sighed heavily into the ground. This wasn’t going to work. Months and months of writing and rewriting, music, convincing his advisor, convincing Wonshik’s advisor, auditions—all for nothing. All so his grand story would wither up and die when they couldn’t find _four people_ on the entire damn campus who could decently act, sing, and dance.

“Uh,” Wonshik asked. “Hyung, you okay there?”

“No,” Hakyeon said. “I’m really not.” His message would die. No one would even hear it now.

“Does he do this a lot?” Taekwoon asked quietly. Wonshik must have communicated a ‘no’ because the next thing he knew, Taekwoon was hesitantly patting the top of his head. It was a gentle pat, and he distinctly heard Wonshik snort, but Hakyeon appreciated the gesture just the same.

“Did you hear it?” Hakyeon asked the floor, but also Taekwoon. “Did you hear—”

_If we all closed our eyes from here until forever_  
_Even if I never saw your face,_  
_I know I would have found you from your heart beat._  
_It doesn’t matter what we are, my love._  
_All that matters is who we’ll be._

Taekwoon’s voice was high and strong, compared with his speaking voice. The tone was sweet and sincere enough for Hakyeon to feel like Taekwoon understood the words beyond their literal interpretation. Hakyeon lifted his head off the floor.

He’d also never realized how good Wonshik was at composing until someone sang his music right.

“That was beautiful,” Hakyeon said, slightly breathless. “That was so beautiful.”

Interestingly, Taekwoon turned bright red and turned his back to Hakyeon, hunching down slightly and fanning his face with his hands. The problem was then that he was looking at Wonshik, whose face was also alight. Trapped between them, Taekwoon turn again, glanced between them, then pulled up his knees and crossed his arms to hide behind.

“Stop,” he said. “Please stop.”

“No, it was perfect!” Hakyeon cried, getting up and crawling across the floor. He grabbed Taekwoon’s arm and pulled on it. “Please be in my show! Please! It was perfect, you’re perfect, you—”

Taekwoon lifted his head and looked and Wonshik.

“ _Help me!_ ” he squeaked. Wonshik promptly burst into laughter, bracing his hands on his knees. Hakyeon continued to pull on Taekwoon’s arm, his praise and offers unrelenting as Taekwoon made multiple attempts to flee or enlist Wonshik’s aid. In a final act of desperation to spare himself from the apparent torture of compliments, he abruptly turned and tackled Hakyeon to the ground, seemingly about to punch him; he caught Taekwoon’s not-even-that-serious punch with one hand, and his wrist with the other.

Wonshik had jumped forward, but Hakyeon cut him off.

“ _Wonshik._ ”

Taekwoon was sitting on him, still red as a cherry, and still a combination of embarrassed and angry. Hakyeon, however, was calm.

“If hitting me will really make you feel better, I’ll let you,” he said. “But I want you to think about it for a second. Think about whether beating me for complimenting you is really worth it.”

“Hyung,” Wonshik said, but Hakyeon wasn’t entirely clear who he was talking to. Suddenly, the fight seemed to go out of Taekwoon all at once; the force in his hands was gone, and he climbed off of Hakyeon to curl up again.

“Sorry,” he murmured. Hakyeon put a hand on his back; Wonshik hissed as if that was a very bad idea.

“You weren’t really mad,” Hakyeon observed. “I just didn’t take your ‘stop’ seriously. I’m sorry for ignoring that.” He gave Taekwoon one more gentle pat before pulling back his hand. “I really would like you to join, though. So far the only other strong vocal we have is—”

“Jaehwan,” Taekwoon said. “I heard.”

“You know him?” Hakyeon asked, surprised.

“Everyone knows him,” Taekwoon said. “He’s loud.”

“He’s adorable,” Wonshik corrected.

“He’s loud,” Taekwoon repeated more firmly. 

“Loud is useful in theatre,” Hakyeon said brightly. “In fact, it’s preferred. Mics are unreliable.”

“Says the guy who spent three days researching mics so he could buy four,” Wonshik snorted. Hakyeon glared at him, gathering a stack of papers and tapping them pointedly.

“I didn’t know who we’d get. Can’t take chances.” He looked at Taekwoon and was again momentarily distracted by his jawline. He shook it off and continued on with his train of thought. “Do you need a mic?”

“I’m not sure,” Taekwoon admitted. “It depends on how much I’m moving.”

“Fair,” Hakyeon acknowledged. “If it helps, I’m still working on the choreo; adjustments can and will be made.” Taekwoon seemed satisfied with that, and lapsed into silence. He reached for the stack of lyrics, but a furtive glance at Hakyeon made him pull back. Hakyeon smiled at him.

“You wrote some of the music,” he said. “It’s only fair that you get to read the words.”

Cautiously, Taekwoon pulled the stack towards him and began slowly leafing through pages. 

“Hyung,” Wonshik called. Taekwoon didn’t even look up; he was lost in words. Hakyeon nodded at him. “I’ve got class; are you two... um...”

“We’re fine, Wonshik,” he said waving a hand in a shooing motion. “Thank you.” Wonshik saluted him before booking it out the door; checking his watch, Hakyeon sighed. He’d been here four hours already? He hadn’t even really gotten anything _done._ With the uncertainty of a fourth actor, he’d been trying to work out how he could reasonably get Wonshik in, but now that Taekwoon had appeared out of literally thin air, it somewhat negated everything he’d managed up to this point.

“I don’t remember this one...” Taekwoon murmured. Hakyeon leaned forward to see. He was holding a page headlined SEE ME.

“Ah. That’s—that one’s mine, not Wonshik’s,” he explained. “I got a couple I thought were decent before I realized I needed help.”

“How does it go?” Taekwoon asked, looking up. Hakyeon blinked at him. He wasn’t a bad singer; quite the contrary. But he wasn’t Jaehwan or Taekwoon. Then again, this was his song. Who could sing it better than him?

_If you asked me what I look like, I couldn’t tell you_  
_I haven’t seen my face with my own eyes_  
_And no matter how I asked, how I cried,_  
_My mother held me in silence._

_You can tell me, if I’m glass._  
_You can tell me, if I’m nothing._  
_You can tell me, if I’m just standing in a shadow that reaches on and on._

_But if you see me,_  
_If you know my face, my shape, my heart,_  
_Then maybe I can still be someone worth your gaze_

When he finished, Taekwoon was staring at him in open shock. Hakyeon wasn’t sure whether that was a positive or negative emotion from him, so he just laughed a bit awkwardly and shrugged.

“I mean,” he said, waving a hand, “It’s not _terrible_ , right?”

Taekwoon shook his head firmly.

“It’s good,” he said. “I like it. Does the music go from minor to major, or just the lyrics?”

“The music too,” Hakyeon confirmed, “but it goes back and forth on the ‘you can tell me’ verse before settling on major.”

“Smart,” Taekwoon said. Hakyeon was unreasonably pleased by the praise, and felt himself blushing. He didn’t know what else to do except laugh somewhat awkwardly, and he still didn’t know if Taekwoon really _got_ it. 

Hakyeon didn’t quite have the courage to ask, exposing himself. So they sat together, Taekwoon singing the songs he knew, and Hakyeon singing the others, shooting ideas for improvement back and forth in peace until Wonshik returned from classes to tell them he’d snuck pizza out of the dining hall underneath his jacket for them to eat together.

 

 

“What do you mean, ‘the characters don’t have names’?” Hongbin asked with concern in his soft brown eyes. “What do you put in the program?”

“The names are up to you,” Hakyeon explained. “The more ambiguous, the better.”

“Define ‘ambiguous’,” Sanghyuk said skeptically. “Are we talking cultural ambiguity? Verbal ambiguity? Narrative ambiguity?” When everyone in the room stared at him for a moment, Sanghyuk added defensively, “This is important stuff, you guys, come on!”

“What even is narrative ambiguity?” Wonshik asked from where he was seated conspicuously close to Hongbin. When no one answered, including Sanghyuk, Hakyeon sighed patiently.

“It’s like the unreliable narrator trope,” he said. “Is the narrative, the story, consistent? Logical? Does it have cohesion and lucidity? Narrative ambiguity would mean that the story is, in some respect, unclear. And yes, to a degree, that is what we’re going for.”

“Oh my god,” Jaehwan gasped. “I swore to myself I would never be in another art piece again.”

“What happened at the last one?” Sanghyuk asked.

“I had to sit on a chair and sing while people—strangers—painted on me,” he said with a shudder. “I did _not_ put that one on my resume.”

“Painted on you?” Sanghyuk repeated. “...Were you naked or something?”

“NO,” Jaehwan shrieked. “BUT THERE WERE WANDERING HANDS AND I WAS NOT OKAY.” Sanghyuk immediately looked sorry he’d asked.

“I’m sorry, but I’m still having trouble with this name thing,” Hongbin said. He seemed unaware of the way Wonshik was gradually leaning on him, and equally unaware of the look of utter peace on Wonshik’s face every time he spoke.

Wonshik flirted like a first grader, honestly. Hakyeon half expected him to challenge Hongbin to a game of kiss-tag.

“Just—name yourselves however you like,” Hakyeon said. “The story starts very ambiguous for very deliberate reasons. The text itself can be interpreted many, many different ways; the idea here is that you understand what the purpose is, and then manipulate the lines and music to express that purpose in a manner that feels genuine to your character. Truthfully, the large majority of this is going to vague as hell when you’re reading through it; that’s on purpose. It’s not meant to be read. It’s meant to be performed, to be alive. Just the text, or just the music, you won’t get the full effect.” He paused, taking in the looks of everyone around him; half of them looked awed, jaws open, and the other half looked deeply, deeply skeptical. Taekwoon had yet to speak a word except his own name, but he was looking at Hakyeon with rapt attention.

“I just want to add,” Wonshik said, raising a hand, “The music isn’t quite... done yet. For similar reasons to what Hakyeon-hyung just explained. We’ll adjust it to fit the characters you develop. This isn’t a finished product, because—”

“It’s not supposed to be finished,” Sanghyuk interrupted. “It will never be ‘finished’ because it’s—alive?”

“You’re such a clever freshman,” Hakyeon cooed. “I might just keep you, after this.”

“I hope you like hiding bodies,” Sanghyuk said cheerfully, “I leave a lot of carnage!”

“How are we assigning lines, then?” Jaehwan asked with a frown.

“Parts are labelled one through four,” Hakyeon explained. “Jaehwan, you’re one. Hongbin is two, Sanghyuk is three, and Taekwoon is four.”

“There’s a five here,” Hongbin pointed out.

“Five is... we might get to five. Later.”

Sanghyuk made spooky fingers at Jaehwan, who immediately clapped his hands on his cheeks in mock-horror. For some reason, this made Sanghyuk grin.

“So can we hear some of the music today?” Hongbin asked, ignoring the silliness happening nearby.

“Uh,” Hakyeon said, glancing at Wonshik.

“Hakyeon can sing one,” Taekwoon suggested softly. Hakyeon stared at him in thinly-veiled irritation.

“No, I can’t,” Hakyeon said. Taekwoon looked at him like he was staring into Hakyeon’s soul.

“You can,” he said. The ‘you chicken’ was implied.

“You can sing?” Jaehwan asked, suddenly perking up. “You never said that! Are you good?”

“I’m—good at a lot of things,” Hakyeon said vaguely. He didn’t need to look at Wonshik to know he was shaking his head with a heavy sigh. It wasn’t that Hakyeon was shy, it was more that he didn’t feel like showing off now was appropriate. They had a lot of ground to cover, and distractions like ‘can the director sing, dance, and act’ would only slow them down. He needed them to be on the same page, literally and figuratively, especially as they only had four weeks to get it down and perform.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Hakyeon said, deliberately ignoring Taekwoon. “Let’s read through the lines as they are, they we can talk about what you get from them and what I want to say with them, shall we?”

 

 

Hakyeon found himself left alone in the theater with Wonshik and Taekwoon. The pair of them had their heads ducked over some sheet music, the page covered in scribbled notations. They looked pretty involved, with Wonshik frowning and Taekwoon murmuring in that soft, quiet voice. Hakyeon tried to edge closer without looking like he was eavesdropping.

“Hongbin is two, right?” Wonshik was saying, shuffling to a different page. “His natural range is pretty low, so we can move this key down to match him more easily.”

“We need to change the bridge then,” Taekwoon pointed out. “It doesn’t work as a lift if it’s too low.”

“True,” Wonshik said. “What if we take the bridge from here—” he scribbled on the page, “—to here?” Taekwoon put one hand out and moved his fingers like he was playing a piano. He traced the lines with the other hand, then nodded at Wonshik.

“Could work. Good idea,” he said, smiling. Wonshik seemed pleased by the rare praise, puffing up a bit. 

“I’m going to drop these down by the studio,” he said. “It’ll only take a few minutes, so you won’t have to wait.” Taekwoon nodded at him again, and Wonshik stuffed his notes into his backpack before taking off at a jog, waving at Hakyeon as he went out of sight. Hakyeon waved back, feeling a sigh work its way out of his chest. 

“You should have sung for them,” Taekwoon said, hands stuffed in the pockets of his tight, artfully ripped jeans. Hakyeon turned and tried very hard not to stare at his impossibly long legs, but it was a struggle. It didn’t help that if he looked upwards, he would see a loose sweater that showed off Taekwoon’s collarbones, then his face that was still incredibly difficult to look away from. Hakyeon stuffed all of those thoughts in the back of his head, determined to maintain a professional front.

“It wasn’t really a good time,” Hakyeon said. “We had more important things to talk about. It’s not like you sang for them either.” Taekwoon flushed.

“It wasn’t even a rehearsal,” he mumbled. Hakyeon laughed, which only seemed to make Taekwoon more embarrassed, and also more annoyed. He reached out to shove Hakyeon lightly, clearly wanting it all to stop. Once it seemed like Hakyeon had gotten himself under control, Taekwoon hunched up his shoulders and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Dinner with Wonshik,” Taekwoon threw over his shoulder. “It’s pizza night.”

For one horrible, gut-stabbing moment, Hakyeon felt a surge of jealousy. He pictured Wonshik and Taekwoon hunched over papers and pizza, smiling and laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

It made him feel incredibly guilty. He didn’t know Wonshik as well as he thought; he hadn’t even known he was dating someone. Suddenly, Hakyeon realized why Taekwoon had seemed so familiar when they first met: he’d seen him, on Wonshik’s Instagram. He hadn’t recognized him because in all the other pictures, he’d been smiling, wide and sweet.

When the jealousy faded, Hakyeon was relieved to feel happy for Wonshik; he was a hard-working kid, he deserved to be happy. It helped that Taekwoon seemed to genuinely enjoy being with him, too. Hakyeon could even almost be a little proud of them.

Almost.

 

 

“Mr. Director,” Jaehwan said, raising a hand. “I have a request!”

“Jaehwannie,” Hakyeon answered seriously, nodding.

“Can I read this... cuter?”

“What?” Hakyeon said, blinking at him.

“Cuter,” Jaehwan repeated as if that would clarify it somehow. Hakyeon gestured to him to try.

The line, as written, was fairly neutral: “You made me wait; I hate waiting.” At first, Jaehwan had read it in an annoyed tone, but his alteration was borderline flirtatious. He even pouted at the end. 

“I know,” Sanghyuk replied, reading his following line in a considerably more playful tone, smirking. It was the perfect, organic line read Hakyeon had been waiting for.

“Now you’re getting it,” Hakyeon said with a delighted clap. “I want you to do this. Take the lines and make them yours. Try things. Imply things.”

“Imply things?” Hongbin asked.

“Can I imply that Taekwoon-hyung murdered someone once?” Sanghyuk asked innocently.

“I mean,” Hakyeon said, “You can try, I guess.”

“Noted,” Sanghyuk said smugly. Taekwoon huffed a dramatic sigh, as if he was being treated with great injustice. Wonshik barely smothered a laugh. Hakyeon waved at them to keep going, his eyes scanning the page for places where they might make changes.

“I can’t stand you, sometimes,” Jaehwan read with disingenuous sniff.

“I know that too,” Sanghyuk replied, still smug. “I don’t mind you, myself.”

“Why not?” Jaehwan said, but compared to his previous read of a flat question, he sounded curious—and ever so slightly insecure, a touch soft.

“You’re not as bad as you wish you were,” Sanghyuk answered, putting a matching softness in his voice. There was something in his expression—it was halfway between reassuring and teasing. Hakyeon absolutely loved it. 

“What makes you think you know me that well?” Jaehwan asked.

“I see you,” Sanghyuk said, “I’ve always seen you.”

There was a pause as the room collectively held their breath.

“You’d be the first,” Jaehwan said softly, making eye contact with Sanghyuk. It was a tender line delivery, and once he’d said it, something quiet and unspoken seemed to be hanging between them. Then after quickly glancing at their scripts, they all looked back at Hakyeon.

There was a musical number. It was SEE ME. The recording was on his phone, but it was an older one before they’d really locked in the melody properly. He suspected the lyrics weren’t even fully up to date.

“Sing it,” Taekwoon said quietly. Everyone looked at him, then back at Hakyeon expectantly. Hakyeon huffed for a moment before deciding it wasn’t worth the protest.

“This isn’t all of it,” Hakyeon explained pre-emptively, “just a few verses. You’ll get the rest later.” Then, he took a deep breath and sang.

_If you asked me what I look like, I couldn’t tell you_  
_I haven’t seen my face with my own eyes_  
_And no matter how I asked, how I cried,_  
_My mother held me in silence._

_You can tell me, if I’m glass._  
_You can tell me, if I’m nothing._  
_You can tell me, if I’m just standing in a shadow that reaches on and on._

_But if you see me,_  
_If you know my face, my shape, my heart,_  
_Then maybe I can still be someone worth your gaze_

When he finished, he looked at Taekwoon; he was smiling, and nodded his head once at Hakyeon, approving. Everyone else besides Wonshik was in various states of confusion; Sanghyuk looked quietly impressed, Hongbin had very wide, nervous eyes, and Jaehwan looked surprised and a touch pissed off.

“Okay, so you can sing,” he said. “Great.”

“Could you always do that?” Hongbin asked. “Did you learn?” Hakyeon smiled at him; Hongbin wanted so badly to do well, it was endearing.

“I practiced. A lot, actually.”

“A lot, a lot,” added Wonshik. He would know; he was the one being forced to work around Hakyeon’s singing, dancing, and acting classes late last year.

“Does everyone understand why that song is there?” Hakyeon asked instead of preening. “What happened?”

“One and Three...” Jaehwan started, but the sentence trailed off. Hongbin was nodding his head quite firmly, so Hakyeon gestured for him to pick up from there.

“One and Three developed a relationship,” Hongbin said. “Neither of them have identities, but by developing a relationship, identities formed around it.”

“The song is One acknowledging that they don’t know who they are, but that the relationship between them is important anyway,” Sanghyuk added. “It’s something they’ve been waiting for, even.”

“Nobody has a name because nobody... is anybody, are they?” Jaehwan said. “I mean. That’s super confusing but it also makes... some kind of sense.”

Hakyeon clapped his hands, grinning delightedly. They were finally getting it!

“Wait, what do we mean by relationship?” Hongbin asked with a frown. “That sounded... I don’t know. Less than platonic when you did it just now. Is it a romantic relationship?”

“Do you want it to be?” Hakyeon posed to the two actors in question. 

“No,” said Jaehwan.

“Yes,” said Sanghyuk, at exactly the same time. They looked at each other, then quickly away.

“So there you are,” Hakyeon said. “That’s conflict. One says no, Three says yes, and that’s something they have to negotiate. Who and what they are, together and apart, in whatever form that takes.”

“I have a headache,” Taekwoon announced.

“Shush,” Hakyeon admonished him. “This is important.”

“So how do we... do that?” Sanghyuk asked cautiously. Hakyeon beamed at him for being such a clever little—huge—freshman.

“Through the text. There is conflict written in, it’s just not defined. You make it through implication.”

“This is such an art piece,” Jaehwan said, putting his head in his hands. “Why do I keep doing these?”

“Maybe you’re just a masochist,” Sanghyuk suggested. Jaehwan turned a strange color and refused to make eye contact with him. Everyone noticed.

Hakyeon looked at the ceiling and prayed for peace.

“Hyung,” Wonshik said, nudging him with an elbow. “Should we keep going?”

“Yes,” Hakyeon said after collecting himself. “Let’s keep going.”

 

After one full run through of the barely-thirty-five-minute-play, Hakyeon felt like he’d been guiding a herd of cats through an obstacle course for three months. Hongbin and Jaehwan walked out together, deep in conversation, with Sanghyuk trailing after them like an oversized duckling. Wonshik had ducked out an hour early to go to one of his lab classes; Hakyeon flopped on his back on the floor of the black box and stared at the lighting structure.

“Are you giving up already?” Taekwoon asked from somewhere to his left. Hakyeon wasn’t sure why he’d hung back; maybe he just wasn’t comfortable with the others like he was with Wonshik. 

“I’m not giving up,” Hakyeon informed him. “I’m wallowing in misery.”

Taekwoon’s face appeared over his, frowning.

“It went well, though,” he said as if it were perfectly obvious.

“In what universe did a four-hour reading of a thirty-five-minute show ‘go well’?”

“In the universe where you got them to kind of follow,” Taekwoon said. “They created a moment, and the song worked for that moment. Isn’t that... kind of the point?”

Taekwoon had eyes that could stare into your soul. 

“Kind of,” Hakyeon said with a sigh. “I mean, yeah, that’s what I want to happen. I’m just... worried.”

“You should trust them more,” Taekwoon said. “You picked them.”

“What about you?” Hakyeon asked. Taekwoon had been quiet during the reading, saying his lines with fairly limited emotion. “You weren’t putting much in. How am I supposed to know you get it?”

Taekwoon turned pink.

“I was—I’ve never acted before,” Taekwoon said. 

“So you were nervous?” Hakyeon said, smiling at him. “It sounds like _you_ don’t trust _me_ all that much.”

“I trust you,” Taekwoon said softly. There was a long pause, Taekwoon and Hakyeon staring at each other in silence. Now it was Hakyeon’s turn to stare, seeing so many things on Taekwoon’s face that he wasn’t sure were really there. He suddenly remembered Taekwoon’s smile on Wonshik’s Instagram, and felt a guilty pang in his heart. What kind of friend was he if he was getting distracted by his friend’s boyfriend’s eyes?

Hakyeon sat up abruptly.

“I should go,” Hakyeon said, trying to gather his notes quickly. Unfortunately, he rushed and managed to slice his finger with a nasty papercut. He yelped and dropped what he was holding.

“Are you okay?” Taekwoon asked, putting a hand on Hakyeon’s elbow.

“Papercut,” Hakyeon said. Before he could say or do anything else, Taekwoon took his hand and examined it closely. “It’s not serious,” he said quickly, aware that his heart was pounding in his ears. Taekwoon had long, elegant fingers; Hakyeon could easily imagine them moving across piano keys. His hand was warm and for a moment Hakyeon had to fight the overwhelming urge to twist their fingers together.

“Be more careful,” Taekwoon scolded him. Before he could say anything more, Taekwoon’s phone rang in his pocket; he pulled it out with his free hand, showing the display as “Wonshikkie”. He looked conflicted about answering it, and he still hadn’t let go of Hakyeon.

“You should get that,” Hakyeon said with a smile. It hurt, but he managed to get it on his face. “He’ll probably be worried if you don’t answer.”

“I ignore him a lot,” Taekwoon said with a shrug. “He’s used to it.”

“Still,” Hakyeon said, gently pulling his hand away from Taekwoon and holding it to his chest. “You’re important to him, right?”

Taekwoon gave him a strange look; he seemed confused, and he looked at his own palm before stuffing it nervously into the pocket of his jeans. Hakyeon’s gaze dropped to the floor; he was, uncharacteristically, out of words.

“I guess?” Taekwoon said, still sounding confused.

“You spend a lot of time together,” Hakyeon commented softly. “You seem happy.”

“I—”

His phone rang again. Hakyeon decided to take his cue; he gestured at the phone, then collected all the papers he’d dropped and left the theater. The entire walk back to his residence hall, his mind kept playing images back to back: Taekwoon’s face when Hakyeon sang, his shrug when he ignored the call, his smile on Wonshik’s Instagram, his confusion when Hakyeon suggested Wonshik cared about who he was dating. 

“I wish you saw me,” Hakyeon murmured to himself.

 

 

Friday night, Wonshik posted a picture of Taekwoon asleep on his sofa. It was adorable.

Hakyeon unfollowed him.

 

 

“You’re wrong,” Hongbin said passionately from the furthest point down stage. “You’re wrong, I can do this.”

“Where does that confidence come from?” Taekwoon snapped back from behind. “What have you ever done?”

“I’ve _existed_ ,” Hongbin answered. “It’s been hard, but I’ve been here. I’ve been here so long.”

“Stop,” Hakyeon called from the first row of seats. He frowned at his blocking chart, tapping his pencil on his chin. “Hongbin, how would you feel about facing Taekwoon?”

“Scared,” Hongbin said immediately. Sanghyuk muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘of course’; Jaehwan elbowed him, and got a neck chop for his trouble.

“What if he was standing right next to you, facing out?”

“It could be interesting. It would less clear if I was talking to him, or the audience,” Hongbin said, nodding.

“Good. Let’s try that. Start from line six.”

The second time, Hakyeon was much more pleased. It felt like a fight, but also a challenge to the audience. He liked the ambiguity, as always. Recently, the characters were becoming more defined; Jaehwan had an insecure fragility as One, Hongbin had a burning but understated passion as Two, Sanghyuk had a playful masculinity as Three, and Taekwoon...

Taekwoon was difficult to direct, largely because he was difficult to pin down. At times, he displayed a shocking degree of stubbornness, but at others, he was quiet and steady. Hakyeon couldn’t make up his mind about which direction to push him towards, partly because he was increasingly aware of how blurred the line was becoming between the play and his own feelings. There hadn’t been a very distinct line from the start, but each day as three cast members began to take it out of his hands, one seemed determined to keep him wrapped up in it.

The music was developing beautifully; Hongbin proved to have a deep, smooth voice when placed in the proper key, and Sanghyuk had his own pleasant charm. Projection was still a bit of an issue for both of them, but considering they’d be in the black box, Hakyeon was relatively sure they could make it. Jaehwan had begun to sing with a degree of restraint, so in the moments when the music needed a push, he could let it out and raise goosebumps on everyone’s arms. 

Taekwoon was just... lovely. Wonshik hadn’t been joking; he was expressive in his singing, both in his facial expressions and physical motions. Hakyeon was still toying with choreography, using Wonshik and Sanghyuk as guinea pigs on a case-by-case basis, but everything he came up with for Taekwoon involved his long, lean limbs and sweeping gestures. It didn’t really fit with the character he was becoming, so Hakyeon kept scrapping it without showing him, determined to present as close to a finished project as possible.

Unfortunately, that meant a lot of late nights in the on-campus dance studio.

“Hyung,” Sanghyuk said, slumped in a corner with a water bottle, scrolling through his text messages distractedly. “Don’t you think you should call it a night?”

Hakyeon didn’t answer him; his eyes were closed because he was focused on the music and trying to move where his body wanted to carry him. Sanghyuk got to his feet.

“Well, I’m going home,” he said. “See you tomorrow.” If he sounded odd, Hakyeon didn’t notice.

Hakyeon waved at him over his shoulder, still dancing. He wasn’t sure how much longer he went; he kept rewinding the track over and over, trying to feel it, trying to become it. He extended a graceful arm, gently curved fingers, folding himself inwards slowly as the music became soft and fluttery. There were no vocals; only him and the melody. As the piece came to an end, he stayed folded, arm extended, lowering himself to the ground. He raised his hand up, with his face still on his fingers, before letting them fall to cover his face.

He was jerked from his dancing haze from applause. In the mirror, he could see Taekwoon behind him. Hakyeon whipped around; the clock read 12:30am.

“What are you doing here?!” he asked in a panic.

“Looking for you,” Taekwoon said.

“How did you know I’d be here?”

“Wonshik said you were here before dinner, so you were probably still here.” After a beat, he added, “And he said you probably didn’t eat dinner.”

“Too busy,” Hakyeon said, standing up and heading to the place he’d left his towel. As he passed Taekwoon, a water bottle was extended to him. He accepted it, uncomfortably aware of how openly he’d been dancing, and not at all sure how long Taekwoon had been there, watching.

“Do you dance a lot?” Taekwoon asked.

“If I have time,” Hakyeon said, uncapping the bottle and taking a long drink. Taekwoon was staring at him with one of those expressions he couldn’t _quite_ pin down. 

“What?”

Taekwoon seemed to be struggling with words. Hakyeon waited, fairly familiar with this from him by now.

“You—” he said, lifting a hand and pushing Hakyeon’s sweaty bangs out of his face. His expression had softened to something that looked... fond, in a way, and a small smile was tucked in the corners of his mouth. He jerked his hand back suddenly, looking at his own fingers in mild alarm. Hakyeon blinked.

“Um,” he said, still attempting to process what had just happened.

“Sorry,” Taekwoon said. “I’m sorry, that—I shouldn’t—your dancing was just—you’re—” His mouth closed with an audible snap.

Hakyeon couldn’t help but laugh then; he knew Taekwoon wouldn’t like it, but he was just so cute when he was flustered, and his complete word salad, at 12:30am, was the funniest thing in the world. He was tearing up, the laughter bubbling out of his chest and filling the room. He managed to look at Taekwoon’s face, which was predictably red as a cherry, but...

He was laughing too.

It was that exact moment that Hakyeon realized he was toeing a dangerous line. The face he’d only seen on Instagram was there, in front of him, _because_ of him, and it didn’t matter how cute Taekwoon was, or how sweet he could be, or how lovely his voice was—Hakyeon couldn’t do this to Wonshik.

But he wanted to.

The laughter died on his lips, along with the happy fizziness in his chest. Taekwoon stopped laughing too, looking at Hakyeon with eyes that he felt horribly guilty about. Taekwoon stepped forward, grabbed his hand, pulled him closer—

Hakyeon stepped back, away, holding his hand to his chest again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, I just—I can’t. He means a lot to me and I don’t want to hurt him.”

Hakyeon grabbed his towel, jammed on his shoes, and fled the practice room and Taekwoon’s shy affections.

 

 

He followed Wonshik on Instagram again. He couldn’t help it; that smile was as tempting as it was taunting, and he needed more of it. 

Taekwoon was still there, still smiling—but as he scrolled through the photos he’d missed, he found one curious story that seemed to be Wonshik, Taekwoon, and _Hongbin_ hanging around what Hakyeon assumed was Hongbin’s place, playing increasingly intense games of Overwatch in between eating pizza. Hongbin was wiping the floor with them, and Wonshik’s camera jumped all over the place after one particularly intense victory of Hongbin’s. 

Taekwoon disappeared halfway through, unexplained, and the last picture was Wonshik’s hand, palm-to-palm with Hongbin’s unusually small one.

 

 

They _hated_ stretching, Hakyeon learned immediately. He had to repeatedly remind them that it’s both important and necessary, and that many a performer had been injured by not warming up properly.

“My shoulders don’t _do that_ ,” Taekwoon grumbled after failing to execute a fairly simple roll.

“Watch Sanghyuk,” Hakyeon instructed him. Sanghyuk rolled beautifully, smiling smugly when Taekwoon glared at him.

“That didn’t help,” Taekwoon said in something rapidly approaching a whine. Hakyeon came over with a huff, standing behind Taekwoon and planting a hand on either shoulder. He felt Taekwoon tense under the touch, before almost immediately relaxing. It gave Hakyeon a strange sense of power, knowing Taekwoon trusted him that much.

“When I push,” he said, “Move it.” He pressed his hands, dragging along each shoulder to pull the motion out. Taekwoon’s shoulders felt wonderfully solid under his palms, and with the hands-on coaching, the muscles flexed as directed. He felt Taekwoon exhale, deeply.

“There,” Hakyeon said, pulling back his hands before he got himself in trouble. “Just keep doing it like that.”

“I think he needs more help,” Jaehwan suggested. “Don’t you, Daeguni?”

“YOUR FINGERS ARE A DISASTER JAEHWAN,” Hakyeon hollered. “FIX THEM BEFORE I BREAK THEM.”

He didn’t have time for this.

 

 

He had even less time for it when Taekwoon kept just _showing up_ at the dance studio whenever Hakyeon was there. It didn’t seem to make any difference what time it was, and he had a myriad of shrugs and vague answers for why he was there. It did allow for a little extra work on the choreography; Taekwoon was actually quite good, given the right direction. 

“I might as well give you the key at this point,” Hakyeon said with a sigh when Taekwoon let himself in silently. “Why are you here?”

“To watch,” Taekwoon said simply. It was easily the most straight-forward answer he’d ever given, and Hakyeon felt himself flushing. He wondered why Taekwoon would want to watch him at all; he saved his smolders for the stage. During practice, he focused on his body, not his face. He also sweated a lot.

“Fine,” Hakyeon said with a sigh. “Do what you want.” He went to the CD player and started his music; he felt like he was really making progress on this number, but he still had a few parts to work out. For one thing, while everyone in the group seemed reasonably able to move in-sync, their gestures varied widely, and Hakyeon couldn’t seem to find things that suited them all. He was far from a professional choreographer.

At least when he was warming up, with his modern dance, he felt _right._ Long extensions, smooth lines, barefoot on the studio floor, compressing and lifting his chest as a breath, dropping to the floor at the end. It felt so natural to him; this, at least, he had some pride in.

He remembered Taekwoon was there when he started clapping. Blushing and breathing hard, he paused the CD player and grabbed his towel, fluffing his hair as he tried to wipe off the sweat. Modern dance was supposed to _look_ effortless most of the time; that didn’t mean it actually _was_ effortless.

“You’re really good at this,” Taekwoon said from the side of the room where he’d sat down.

“I’m good,” Hakyeon said with a shrug. “I’m not great.”

“Have you competed?” Taekwoon asked, tilting his head.

“Well, yeah. I was a dance major until last year.”

“Did you win?”

“Sometimes.”

“How many times?” Taekwoon pressed. Hakyeon ran through his competition themes, trying to remember how many he’d participated in over three years.

“Fifteen,” he said. “The highest I got was a national competition; I did a piece blindfolded to fit a ‘suffocation’ theme.”

“Fifteen is a lot,” Taekwoon pointed out. “Doesn’t that mean you’re great? It sounds like you are.”

“I’m not—I just worked really hard,” Hakyeon said, sitting next to Taekwoon on the floor. “It’s easier to dance than the other stuff, but if I was _great_ shouldn’t it just be... easier? Talent comes naturally. If it’s hard, I can’t be _that_ good.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s easy or it’s hard; if you perform well, then you’re great,” Taekwoon said softly. He leaned against Hakyeon’s shoulder, handing him a water bottle. “You look great to me.”

Hakyeon tried very, very hard not to misunderstand that statement, but he couldn’t ignore the way his stomach flipped and his cheeks heated up. Taekwoon was so quiet during rehearsals; he only seemed to talk when it was just the two of them, alone in a silent space.

“Thank you,” he said, dropping his head shyly.

“...Can I try?” he asked.

“Try what?” 

“Try the way you do,” he said. “I won’t be very good, but it looks... cool.”

“If... if you want to, I guess?” Hakeyon said, curious despite himself. He was already imagining Taekwoon moving fluidly and having a presence on stage the way he did when he sang. If he was half as beautiful this way as he was then, Hakyeon definitely wanted to see it.

It was probably not a good thing that he wanted so badly, but he was having a hard time not wanting Taekwoon.

Hakyeon directed him where to stand, and stood next to him. Piece by piece, they worked through the routine Hakyeon had danced as his warm-up for months; it was a piece that built as it progressed, starting smooth and slow, then moving into more powerful, sharp movements. It definitely wasn’t good for beginners, but it was the one Taekwoon wanted to attempt.

“Now extend your—wait, no, hang on, you look like a spider,” Hakyeon fussed, adjusting Taekwoon’s arms. “Why are your limbs so _long_?”

“My sisters pulled on them when I was little,” Taekwoon said with a completely straight face. Hakyeon gave him a half-hearted neck chop.

“Okay, so—not extend, but kind of unfurl? Think like a plant bud as it’s just popping out. It kind of unrolls.”

“Show me again,” Taekwoon demanded. Hakyeon sighed, but obliged. He unfurled, only faster than what he’d been showing before. Taekwoon did his best (probably) to imitate it, but motion in his arms continued to look frustratingly gangly, and Hakyeon couldn’t quite figure out why. Wonshik had long arms and Sanghyuk was just gigantic, but they managed to make it look right.

Hakyeon fell into pensive silence, examining Taekwoon from head to toe with a finger on his lip, tapping his bare foot impatiently on the floor. Long legs perpetually in tight jeans led to narrow hips that distracted him frequently, then a stomach he knew from glances now and then to be toned, to surprisingly broad, solid shoulders, and his face that Hakyeon was much better about being able to read than before.

“Why are you planning the dances?” Taekwoon asked suddenly. Hakyeon looked at him in mild confusion; there were still times where he didn’t follow entirely. “I mean, you planned the lines but not the reads, characters, and everything.” Taekwoon gestured between the two of them. “Why are you planning these?”

“I,” Hakyeon started, but stopped. 

“Did you try the... make it up thing?” Taekwoon asked, soft curiosity. 

“By myself,” he said instantly. “Never with the others.” 

“Try with me,” Taekwoon said, and Hakyeon was shaking his head aggressively before the sentence was even over.

“I don’t think you’ll like it,” Hakyeon pointed out. “You’d have to touch me quite a bit.” Dance was so intimate for him; he tried to become movement, to melt into the music, and if Taekwoon was touching him, Hakyeon suspected he’d melt right into Taekwoon, which under the circumstances was not a good idea.

But Taekwoon was moving; he jogged over to the CD player, skipping to the track with no vocals, and jogged back. He stood directly behind Hakyeon and waited.

“Curl up,” he said. 

“What?”

“You’re curled up when this starts. I saw you.” 

Hakyeon didn’t know what was going on; he didn’t know what to do, but the music had started and Taekwoon stood there just _watching_ him, so Hakyeon hunched his upper torso, arms extended and hands drooping palm-down. Usually, he would straighten and pull everything up, to the very tips of his toes—but Taekwoon was wrapping around him. His chest was pressed to Hakyeon’s spine; his arms lay loose over Hakyeon’s, fingers curled around his hands. It was easily the most physical contact they’d ever had. When it came time to rise, they moved together, with Taekwoon’s long, long arms following Hakyeon’s extensions. He stayed flat on his feet, and when Hakyeon tried to go en pointe, Taekwoon’s nose was pressed just behind his ear.

Looking in the mirror, he froze.

Taekwoon was watching him through the glass, with burning eyes.

“Isn’t it better this way?” he whispered in Hakyeon’s ear.

“Yes,” Hakyeon whispered back. 

Taekwoon stepped back suddenly, releasing him, and Hakyeon had never felt so cold in his life.

“I think so too,” Taekwoon said, shaking his hands out like they’d fallen asleep before jamming them in his pockets nervously again. Before Hakyeon could summon a response, he added, “Think about it.” Then he turned and walked out.

 

 

“I don’t care,” Jaehwan said urgently, “I really don’t. I don’t care if anyone else notices.”

“You said you hated me, didn’t you?” Sanghyuk said. Jaehwan reached out to put his hands on either side of Sanghyuk’s face.

“It’s different now,” he said, soft. “I’m different now.” 

“So it’s alright?” Sanghyuk asked. He leaned in so their faces were inches apart and _purred_ , “It’s alright if I change you?”

Hakyeon watched them, transfixed. 

Behind him, he heard Wonshik hiss, “Kiiiiiiissssss!” Hakyeon smacked his shin without looking away.

 

 

“Hyung,” Hongbin said after rehearsal when everyone was collecting their things. “Can... Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure,” Hakyeon said with forced cheer. “What’s up?”

“Is this... are you gay?”

Hakyeon stared at him and dropped the pen he was holding.

“It’s just,” Hongbin said hurriedly, “So many of these lines read like someone kind of going through an identity crisis, and the fact that you cast four guys to play technically genderless, nameless characters and all the music has this underlying message of wanting to be seen and recognized and I think Jaehwan and Sanghyuk are making out _in real life_ —” He paused to breathe.

“Wait, what?” Hakyeon said. “Why do you think that?”

“Jaehwan _caressed his face_ ,” Hongbin pointed out. “They’re _feeling it._ ”

“Maybe they’re just both good actors,” Hakyeon said, aware how weak his defense sounded.

“Also Jaehwan had a hickey on his neck that Sanghyuk kept touching ‘accidentally’,” Hongbin added with air quotes. “He seemed kind of pleased about it. Oh, and he swats Jaehwan’s butt like, all the time.”

Hakyeon started to defend Jaehwan’s butt as being extremely tempting, but managed to stop himself just in time.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Hongbin said, “Are you gay?”

“Um,” Hakyeon said, not entirely sure how to answer the question. It seemed pretty clear-cut, and generally he favored honesty in all circumstances, but Hongbin was a vital part of the cast. If Hakyeon made him uncomfortable, it would probably affect the show, and they were making such wonderful progress that Hakyeon was prepared to jump into a closet and lock the door if need be. 

“You are, right?” Hongbin pressed, wringing his hands and glancing nervously over his shoulder, as if checking no one had snuck up behind him. As if he was afraid of being overheard.

Ah.

“Are you?” Hakyeon returned neatly. The color drained from Hongbin’s face.

“I don’t know?” he said. “I think so? Maybe? What—what do I do?”

“Kiss a boy,” Hakyeon suggested brightly. “That helps clarify things.”

“I don’t want to kiss a boy.”

“Well, then—”

“I want to kiss Wonshik,” Hongbin said, the words tumbling of his mouth in a rush. He sat down suddenly, putting his head in his hands. “He’s so smart, but so dumb, and he likes watching me play and he leans on me and he doesn’t think my hands are weird—he says they’re cute—and I don’t know what to do.”

Hakyeon battled with a variety of emotions; nurturing won out. There was a tiny part of him that wanted to warn Hongbin that Wonshik was off the market, and another part of him that wanted to encourage this, selfishly, as if it would make his situation with Taekwoon easier. He sat down next to Hongbin and reached an arm around his shoulders, patting comfortingly.

“He’s got his charms,” Hakyeon said. “Have you never... liked a boy before?”

“I’ve never liked _anyone_ ,” Hongbin said. “I’m a loser with no friends.”

“That can’t be true.”

“It _is_ ,” Hongbin said. “All I’ve ever been is a pretty face. Nobody cares what I’m good at, what I like, what I want—it’s just my face. As soon as they get past that, they realize I’m not that interesting and go away. I’ve—there’s never been someone to like.”

“But now there’s Wonshik.”

“I guess.”

“Have you told him that?” Hakyeon asked carefully. Hongbin jerked his head up to look at Hakyeon with pure terror in his face.

“Are you kidding?! How could I do that!?”

“Hey, Wonshik,” Hakyeon said. “You’re cute, let’s make out.”

“Why did I think you would be helpful?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one that cornered me to grill me about my taste in partners,” Hakyeon pointed out. “I’m just trying to be supportive.”

Hongbin groaned and let his head drop again.

“If it helps,” Hakyeon said quietly, “I also like someone that I definitely cannot tell.”

“You _could_ ,” Hongbin said bitterly. “You just _won’t._ ”

Hakyeon stared at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a near monotone. Hongbin looked at him with extreme judgment.

“If I need to kiss a boy,” he said, “You _definitely_ need to kiss a boy. He’s not going to kiss you first, he’s way too shy.”

“I—what—”

“You know what, just—I’m going to go. I’m getting dinner with Wonshik. But as friends. Just friends. _Because we are just friends._ ”

He stomped out of the theater with his hands in his hair.

Hakyeon felt like he’d just been punched.

 

 

Much later, he went to the studio Wonshik usually lurked in for recording, expecting to find his friend hunched down over a laptop and a mixing board. Instead, he found Taekwoon, perched on a chair with his knees pulled up. He had earbuds in, but he wasn’t paying attention to the music. He was typing on a laptop.

Hakyeon caught himself staring at the gentle curls of his hair at the base of his neck. He did not catch himself from reaching out to smooth them down. Taekwoon jumped, ripping the earbuds out of his ears and slapping Hakyeon’s hand away in surprise.

“Sorry,” Hakyeon said lamely. “I mean—sorry.”

“What are you doing here?!” Taekwoon said, louder than Hakyeon had ever heard him speak off-stage.

“I was looking for Wonshik,” he explained.

“He’s not here,” Taekwoon said, gesturing at the empty studio. “He’s on a not-date with his not-boyfriend.”

“He’s—what?”

“Hongbin,” Taekwoon said. “He’s on a date with Hongbin.”

“Why... why is he on a date with Hongbin?” Hakyeon asked, absolutely baffled why Taekwoon wouldn’t be upset by his boyfriend actively cheating on him.

“I don’t know,” Taekwoon shrugged. “They were flirting so I got bored and left.”

“You—you were okay with that?” Hakyeon asked gingerly.

“I don’t care,” Taekwoon said. “He can do what he wants.”

“Even... kiss a boy?”

“No,” Taekwoon said with a shudder. “I don’t want to see him kiss anyone. Gross.”

“Have you kissed him?” Hakyeon heard himself asking without fully connecting his brain to his mouth.

“What? No!” Taekwoon hunched in his seat defensively. “It’s Wonshik, that’s weird!”

“Just to clarify,” Hakyeon’s mouth continued, “If it wasn’t Wonshik, but a different boy—”

“I’m not kissing Jaehwan either,” Taekwoon said firmly. 

“It does seem... risky, recently,” Hakyeon admitted, thinking back the way Sanghyuk would occasionally place a possessive hand on the back of Jaehwan’s neck when they were just standing near each other.

“Yeah,” Taekwoon said, casually revealing personal information, “Sanghyuk kind of staked his claim on that one.”

“Wait, why would you think that?” Hakyeon asked, confused. Taekwoon shuddered.

“I saw them in the theater,” he said, looking distinctly unhappy about it. “Looked... suspicious.” Hakyeon made a face; he really hoped they hadn’t gotten up to anything in the rehearsal space. It would be pretty disrespectful, in his opinion.

“...Have you kissed Wonshik?” Taekwoon asked cautiously. He seemed suddenly very interested in staring at his laptop screen, and the floor, and the chair in front of him—anywhere except Hakyeon’s face.

“God, no,” Hakyeon said in mild horror. “He’s a cute kid, but no.”

There was a long moment of silence between them; Hakyeon could only guess what Taekwoon was thinking until he looked up, meeting Hakyeon’s gaze with hope.

“So you’re not... dating Wonshik?”

“No. Why would you think that?” Taekwoon said with his own mild horror.

“You’re all over his Instagram,” Hakyeon said sheepishly. “Smiling and hanging out with him all the time.”

“He’s my friend,” Taekwoon said softly. “I don’t have many friends.”

“You have lots of friends,” Hakyeon protested. “You have Jaehwan, Hongbin, Sanghyuk. You have me.”

Taekwoon looked quite surprised at that, and his face was turning that pink color that Hakyeon loved seeing.

“You?” Taekwoon asked. Hakyeon reached out and brushed his bangs off his face, a mirror of the gesture that had shaken him so badly that night in the dance studio. Taekwoon wasn’t dating Wonshik. He was probably not dating anyone, and for the first time, Hakyeon didn’t feel guilty about the way he felt; he just felt warm and ever so slightly hopeful.

“Me,” Hakyeon said, fingers trailing down Taekwoon’s jaw. Taekwoon shoved his laptop aside, letting his long legs down to the floor, but made no move to shake off Hakyeon’s hand. Instead, he carefully reached out, hooked both his index fingers in Hakyeon’s belt loops, and pulled him close until Hakyeon was standing between his knees. Slowly, as if Taekwoon might spook, Hakyeon twisted his fingers in Taekwoon’s hair.

“Is that—” he started, and his heart was pounding so hard he almost gave up on the question entirely. “Is that okay?”

Taekwoon leaned his forehead against Hakyeon’s stomach, hiding his face. Despite his shyness, he nodded, his pull on Hakyeon’s belt loops tightening just a touch.

“You—” he mumbled. “You’re a musical.”

“...What?”

“You’re a musical,” he repeated. “You’re not just a play, or a song, or a dance. You’re everything.”

Hakyeon’s fingers never slowed in their gentle combing. He felt so peaceful like this, and his heart was so light, he almost couldn’t breathe. Then Taekwoon stood up, his head still ducked, and instead of holding on to Hakyeon’s belt loops, he let his hands rest on Hakyeon’s hips.

Then he looked up, bright red but determined.

Hongbin was wrong.

Taekwoon kissed him, and it was the sweetest thing Hakyeon had ever tasted. Slow and gentle, still nervously hesitant, but getting braver, especially when Hakyeon just wrapped his arms around Taekwoon’s neck to keep him there. The kiss deepened and every single thought in his head evaporated, replaced only by bubbling delight that this was really happening. _Finally._

“Just—so you know,” Taekwoon said when they stopped to breathe, “I can’t do this kind of stuff in front of people. You’d like that, right?”

“No kissing in public,” Hakyeon said. “I’ll deal with it. How about hand-holding?”

“That’s—that’s okay,” Taekwoon said, smiling. Hakyeon kissed the corners of his mouth right where they tucked in, then figured he’d better make the most of this private time and go back to kissing. Taekwoon seemed only too happy to oblige.

Hakyeon had spent so much time wanting, and feeling bad for wanting, Taekwoon that he was having a hard time holding back. It seemed like Taekwoon was feeling much of the same, because he kissed like a man starved of it, intense and thorough. Hakyeon melted into his arms, delighted when Taekwoon’s hand skirted up under his shirt, up his back. Hakyeon gasped into the kiss, hoping Taekwoon took that as encouragement.

He wanted _more._

“Oh, shit,” Wonshik’s voice said behind him. Taekwoon broke away, somehow had enough time to make eye contact, and turned Hakyeon around so he could crouch down and hide behind him. 

“Uh,” Wonshik said, “This is... awkward.” Hongbin was standing just behind him, looking more than a little pleased with himself. Taekwoon made a pained noise from his hiding place and Hakyeon, red and flustered and probably looking very thoroughly kissed, felt the urge to spread the embarrassment around a little.

“Wonshik, Hongbin!” he said with a cheerful smile. “How was your date?”

“Great,” Wonshik said with a grin.

“It wasn’t a date!” Hongbin protested at exactly the same moment. The two looked at each other in surprise.

“It wasn’t?” Wonshik said quietly, his face falling. “Oh.”

“No, it was—I mean—” Hongbin stammered, reaching out to grab Wonshik’s elbow. “I didn’t think you were...”

“Hongbinnie,” Hakyeon scolded mildly. “I think you should be honest with Wonshik, don’t you?” Hongbin shot him a glare that would melt glass.

“Sorry,” Wonshik said with a noticeably forced smile. “I guess it was just a little wishful thinking.” Hakyeon desperately wanted to hug him; he’d heard Wonshik use this voice a few times, and never stopped breaking his heart.

“Wishful thinking?” Hongbin parroted.

“Forget it,” Wonshik continued, still in the sad voice. “Really, just. Never mind, okay?”

“You wanted it to be a date?” Hongbin asked, seemingly in disbelief. “Really?”

“I said forget it,” Wonshik said.

“But you wanted—”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Wonshik interrupted, voice cracking. “I’m dumb, you’re out of my league, so—”

“Out of your _league_?” Hongbin said. 

“Well, yeah,” Wonshik said. “You’re—”

“Handsome,” Hongbin filled in with extreme bitterness.

“Fun,” Wonshik corrected. “I mean, you’re also hot, but fun.”

Hongbin was gaping at Wonshik. Hakyeon had a feeling this was a response he had never, in his life, received before and he didn’t quite know what to say to it. He remembered suddenly their conversation about Hongbin’s friendships, or lack thereof.

“This is weird to watch,” Taekwoon murmured into Hakyeon’s shoulder blades.

“Hush, the children are working things out,” Hakyeon chided him.

“I like you,” Hongbin spit out abruptly. “A lot.”

“Oh,” Wonshik said. Then, after a moment, “ _Oh._ ” Hakyeon clutched his hands to his heart, touched by their awkwardness and innocence.

“Please don’t kiss,” Taekwoon said, peeking over Hakyeon’s shoulder. “I really don’t want to see it.”

“Yeah, it’s _super gross_ to see your friends kissing,” Hongbin shot back at Taekwoon pointedly. “Disturbing, even.”

“Haunts you,” Wonshik added. “Every time you close your eyes, it’s _there_.”

“Ugh,” Hongbin added for emphasis. Before he could continue lobbing shots at their elders, Wonshik had grabbed his hand on his elbow, turned his back to Hakyeon and Taekwoon and, Hakyeon assumed by the ensuing dip, kissed Hongbin.

“Gross,” Taekwoon said, ducking again.

“Cute,” Hakyeon said, happy for them, if slightly disturbed.

“Is this a make out spot now?” Taekwoon grumped against the back of Hakyeon’s neck. “I’m not coming back here.”

“Where will we make out then?” Hakyeon asked, grinning.

“Somewhere else,” Taekwoon said. “Anywhere else.”

“That can be arranged,” Hakyeon said brightly.

 

 

“I don’t care,” Jaehwan said urgently, “I really don’t. I don’t care if anyone else notices.”

“You said you hated me, didn’t you?” Sanghyuk said. Jaehwan reached out to put his hands on either side of Sanghyuk’s face.

“It’s different now,” he said, soft. “I’m different now.” 

“So it’s alright?” Sanghyuk asked. He leaned in so their faces were inches apart and _purred_ , “It’s alright if I change you?”

And then they were kissing, on stage, during a performance, enthusiastically, while Hakyeon stood offstage with his head in his hands because really, this was partly his fault for encouraging them to “go with the flow” in the first place. The audience seemed half confused, half delighted, judging by gasps and facial expressions. Especially when Sanghyuk just wrapped his arms around Jaehwan and _went for it._

“Congrats,” Wonshik said over the headset. “Your musical just got gay.”

“Told you,” Hongbin said smugly next to Hakyeon in the wings. Taekwoon had turned his back to the stage, attempting to become one with the blackout curtain.

Hakyeon sighed.


	2. Dimples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonshik is absolutely devastated by Hongbin's jawline.

Kim Wonshik had had his fair share of crushes over the years. Han Mina in second grade had long, thick hair that she kept back with a velvet ribbon. Park Chun-min in junior high school was the best second-baseman on the team (he was also the first boy he actually kissed, although it only happened once.) In high school he’d been too busy to really notice anyone, but Cho Iseul had a beautiful singing voice that literally everyone who heard it loved her, girls too.

Once he got to university, he was even _busier_ , although in his heart of hearts, he daydreamed of a student-life romance. He would people watch, imagine them and write songs about the feelings he would have for them. He didn’t tell anyone, ever.

Well, okay. He told Cha Hakeyon, but Cha Hakyeon was just the easiest human being alive to talk to. He was like a combination of your mother (without the judgment) your best friend (without the mutual investment) and your therapist (without the fee, unless you counted the smoothies he exhorted from his underclassmen on a regular basis.) Wonshik found that Hakyeon just kind of neatly folded himself into Wonshik’s life, and when Hakyeon asked him to help him with his passion project, his senior year final thesis, his _art_ , of course he said yes.

He saw the early scripts and was really glad he’d already agreed; it was a bit pretentious, a bit obtuse, but goddamn if Hakyeon didn’t have a way with the art of the stage. His song writing wasn’t bad, but he knew Wonshik could, and would, do better.

Which is how he ended up with a clipboard in an auditorium, listing to men who thought they could sing, be completely and utterly wrong. Hakyeon had started off perky and attentive, but as the river of incompetence rolled over them in waves, he started to lose hope. As the list of names dwindled, Hakyeon looked increasingly like he was going to cry. Or punch something, and then cry.

Jaehwan had been a jolt to their systems; it was rare you heard real, raw talent like his on a collegiate stage; he was pretty cute, too, in a universally applicable way, and Wonshik could feel a shy flutter in his chest when Jaehwan handed over his email address and phone number—with an exaggerated wink that most certainly was _not_ the cutest thing he’d seen since his sister’s last selfie.

And then, after Jaehwan, Lee Hongbin got on stage, and something in Wonshik just _hooked_. Obviously, the first thing that jumped out was his exquisite face: a killer jawline, beautiful eyes, a mega-watt smile, and _dimples._

Jesus Christ, did Wonshik ever have a thing for fucking _dimples._

For reasons Wonshik absolutely did not understand, Hongbin seemed to think he wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Sorry, is this—is this where the audition is?” he asked. His voice was pleasant and smooth. Wonshik nodded his head so hard that his snapback slipped and he made himself dizzy. His palms were sweaty when he tried to fix it; it just kept jumping out of his fingers.

“This is it!” Hakyeon said brightly. “Just hop up on the stage with the mic and give us what you’ve got!”

Lee Hongbin climbed in the stage, grabbed the microphone, turned to face them... and stood frozen and silent.

“...Why don’t you introduce yourself?” Hakyeon nudged gently. 

“I’m—Lee Hongbin,” he said. His hands were gripping the mic so tightly his knuckles were white, but he managed to flash a brilliant, dimpled smile. “I’m a sophomore, performance major.”

“And what are you going to be singing?” Hakyeon asked, taking the clipboard out of Wonshik’s hand. The damn hat continued to give him trouble, so he ripped it off his head and crushed it in his lap. Hongbin’s smile stayed in place, but his eyes went wide and alarmed, leaving him with a manic expression.

“S-sing?” he said.

“...This is a musical,” Hakyeon said. Hongbin’s smile dropped.

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” he said very seriously into the microphone in a beautifully smooth, warm baritone. “I’m—I’ll just see myself out.”

“No!” Wonshik called from his seat with urgency. “Just sing anything!” He would have run up and grabbed Hongbin’s arm to keep him there if he had to. Hongbin just arrived; Wonshik wasn’t done basking in his sunshine yet.

“It doesn’t have to be from a musical,” Hakyeon explained patiently 

“I’ve never been in a musical,” Hongbin said. “Just plays.”

“This is a play,” Hakyeon said. “A play with musical numbers.”

“ _I’ve never been in a musical,_ ” Hongbin repeated with more urgency.

“So you’ve prepared a monologue?” Hakyeon said. “Do that then. You can sing after.” Hongbin looked about to refuse, so Hakyeon shouted, “CUE!”

Hongbin was _good_. He knew Hakyeon was pleased because he was doing that thing with his hands, pressed against his heart like a mother who had just seen her child’s first awkward school presentation day. Wonshik was honestly, sincerely following the story of the monologue for the first time all day; Hongbin made it interesting. 

“That was _great_ ,” Hakyeon called out once Hongbin had bowed. Wonshik was clapping, but genuinely. “Now you just have to sing a bit!”

“I—”

“What’s your favorite song?” 

“ _Wildflower_ by Park Hyoshin,” Hongbin said instantly. Then, after registering what he’d just said, he added, “I can’t sing it though.”

“Try!” Hakyeon said brightly. “Miracles happen!”

“I don’t—”

“TRY!” Hakyeon repeated. “MIRACLES HAPPEN, HONGBIN!”

“Hyung, chill please,” Wonshik murmured at him.

“ _We need three more people and he’s good,_ ” Hakyeon hissed back. He wasn’t wrong, Wonshik was just worried that Hakyeon’s excitement would turn into that thing that made him literally jump-hug people. He didn’t weigh much so it wasn’t really a problem for Wonshik unless he wasn’t expecting it, but Hongbin had this... delicacy to him. He was clearly tall and well-built, but...

Not that Wonshik was evaluating any of those things, of course.

His singing was hardly the worst they’d heard that day. Hongbin couldn’t sing _Wildflower_ , but that was because he was trying to sing it in the original key, for a tenor (or countertenor, if he was flexible.) As a baritone, that would never have sounded right unless he had a magical range. But aside from the obvious key issue, he mostly stayed in tune, kept the beat, and had decent projection considering he was obviously terrified. He didn’t even have any serious issues with rhythm, a feat for a song played somewhat loosely on the piano.

Hakyeon glanced at him; Wonshik gave an immediate nod of approval and preemptively circled Hongbin’s name on his reclaimed clipboard.

“You can stop there, thank you,” Hakyeon said. Hongbin dropped his head, certain he had failed utterly, but Hakyeon continued. “We’d love to have you; please leave your email address and phone number so we can send you the rehearsal schedule. We’re still deciding on parts, but hopefully we’ll have made up our minds by the first meeting!”

“Wait,” Hongbin said, “I passed?”

“Yes!” Wonshik called out. “We—He likes you!”

Hongbin squinted at Hakyeon with an extremely judgmental gaze, the kind that felt like lasers burning through steel. It was pretty great, and Wonshik had to stuff his knuckles into his mouth to smother the giggle that would _definitely_ have earned him physical assault from Hakyeon.

“Like I said before, the monologue was good,” Hakyeon explained. “Your singing isn’t bad; a little extra training and you should do fine.”

“Thanks?” Hongbin said, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “I think?” Hakyeon shot him a double thumbs-up and Wonshik cringed a little. Also like his mom, there were times when Hakyeon was almost upsettingly uncool.

Hongbin strolled up the aisle, still glancing over his shoulder with that judgmental glare; it vanished when he looked at Wonshik, replaced by one of nervous excitement. Wonshik’s heart galloped and he had to remind himself to be professional.

“You did great,” he gushed immediately. Hongbin looked at him with surprise; Wonshik was aware that he didn’t immediately present as a friendly, casual guy. Something about his face, height, and shoulder width gave off a much more aggressive initial impression. It always seemed to surprise people that he had not a single aggressive bone in his body. Defensive, sure; Hakyeon could turn on a dime, and he had to be ready.

“T-thanks?” Hongbin said hesitantly.

“Really,” Wonshik said, beaming at him. “Really, I’m serious.”

“Uh,” Hongbin said, returning the smile with one that temporarily stopped Wonshik’s heart. “I think I’m supposed to give you my contact info, yeah?”

Oh, right. His job. Oops.

“Youremailandphonenumberrighthereplease,” Wonshik said rapidly, thrusting the clipboard out in attempt to distract from the urge to hand Hongbin his phone and ask for his number that way instead.

Hongbin passed it on, thanked Wonshik, and walked out. Wonshik held the clipboard to his heart and sighed. Hakyeon, thankfully, was too busy staring at his own notes to notice. Before he could catch on, Wonshik flipped to the next audition.

He definitely fell asleep; he was jerked from his light slumber by Hakyeon’s painfully forced clapping and desperation. Wonshik just moved on to the next headshot—and smiled. 

“Hyung,” Wonshik said after he’d come out of his reverie, “I think you’re going to like this one. Look at his headshot.”

Hakyeon looked, and melted. He started to make that high-pitched pre-hugging sound that usually meant whoever he was looking about was going to get a good cuddle, whether they wanted it or not. Wonshik put his hand over Hakyeon’s mouth, hoping to either block it, or smother him into unconsciousness.

“ _He’s a precious baby,_ ” Hakyeon squeaked.

“Hey, is this the audition?”

They looked up. Then down. Then up.

“...Um,” said a tall, broad-shouldered young man. He was very similar to the precious baby thing in the face, but absolutely everything else about him was... definitely a man. “Sorry, I’m Han Sanghyuk? I was supposed to come here for an audition.”

“You need a new headshot, kid!” Wonshik called out. “We were waiting for a little guy!”

“It’s only a year old,” he retorted. “Headshots are expensive.”

“Good god,” Hakyeon said, still holding the headshot. “What did they feed you, pure raw beef steroids?”

Sanghyuk made dinosaur claws with his hands and grinned, answering, “The raw, beating hearts of weaker freshmen.” 

“So... are there any freshmen _left_?!” Hakyeon asked incredulously. Sanghyuk shrugged. 

“Enough to supplement my resident meal plan,” he said, earning himself a half-smothered giggle from Wonshik. “Anyway, are we doing this, or did you cast everything already and I’m only here to make it seem like you’re unbiased?”

“Oh, no, we’ve got roles left. Please, go ahead! What were you starting with, a monologue or a song?”

“Actually,” Sanghyuk said, looking slightly embarrassed for the first time, “I think I’m probably best at dancing, so I thought I’d do that? I can sing later if you want.”

“Dancing?” Hakyeon said, perking up. Wonshik sighed; Hakyeon pretended like he’d moved on from dance in his life, but considering how often he booked the studio just to spend some time alone, Wonshik was quite sure Hakyeon was still very much a dancer at heart. Not that Wonshik was any better; he spent hours in the studio, listening to his own tracks over and over again, tweaking them constantly until he was 100% satisfied.

Sanghyuk wasn’t lying; he was a very good dancer. He placed his phone on the ground with the volume maxed so it could be heard. He danced hip-hop, but in a really strong, precise way that kind of drew your attention no matter what you were into. He had presence on stage, and that was rare in a kid his age.

He ducked his head shyly when the music ended, grinning when Wonshik hooted at him approvingly. Wonshik liked to give the younger kids boosts when he could; he remembered being a nervous freshman all too well.

“Please tell me you can sing,” Hakyeon said, clasping his hands in front of his heart. 

“I don’t know any musical songs,” Sanghyuk started, but Hakyeon waved at him, interrupting. 

“That’s fine!” he said, “Any song is fine! Just carry a tune!”

“Okay,” Sanghyuk said. “I guess I’m pretty good at that new Bieber song?” Without further encouragement, he sang. Wonshik was impressed despite himself; if he had to guess, he’d say that Sanghyuk’s voice had only recently dropped to its final depth, although it could still be falling. Many a young male singer had a rough time adjusting to a voice that was in a totally different range than he’d been in for his entire life, but Sanghyuk seemed to have adjusted pretty well. There was polishing to do, but he could easily be the one of the tenors they were looking for.

“Han Sanghyuk, you’re in!” Hakyeon said, delighted. 

“Sweet!” Sanghyuk said, shooting Hakyeon with finger guns. “Who am I going to be?”

“Um,” Hakyeon said sheepishly, “We’re still working on the details. Just leave your info with Wonshik and we’ll get back to you.” Sanghyuk was still grinning as he walked up the aisle towards Hakyeon, but when they were almost shoulder to shoulder, he paused. Wonshik couldn’t see Hakyeon’s face, but he saw the dart of insecurity on Sanghyuk’s face, and the relief as it was wiped away.

Hakyeon generally had that effect on people.

“Han Sanghyuk,” Wonshik said, extending his clipboard, “You did good. Are you working on smoothing your lower register?”

“Kind of,” Sanghyuk said with a shrug. “It sort of...”

“Keeps dropping?” Wonshik said sympathetically. Sanghyuk nodded. “Like I said; keep working on it. If you can keep the upper range and still reach down, you’ll be in a good spot.”

“Oh,” Sanghyuk said, surprised. “Thanks.” He wrote down his info and headed out.

The last guy was shit.

“This is bad,” Hakyeon said, staring at Wonshik’s clipboard in dismay. “This is really bad.”

“Can you cut a part?” Wonshik said with a wince, aware that for Hakyeon, that was like cutting his own baby in half.

“It’s only four roles to start with,” Hakyeon reminded him. “For a musical? That’s ridiculously small.”

“I know I’ve asked before,” Wonshik said, “But Hyung: why did you make this a _musical_?”

“Because it _is_ a musical,” Hakyeon insisted. Wonshik didn’t press it; he knew how hard Hakyeon had worked to get it accepted by the administration and be allowed to work on it for credit. 

With a heavy internal sigh, Wonshik decided now was time to play the incredibly dodgy wildcard: Jung Taekwoon.

“Look,” said Wonshik, putting a heavy hand on Hakyeon’s drooping shoulder, “I... know a guy.”

“And?”

“And he doesn’t... audition.” Mostly because he was shy, but also because he didn’t handle stress in the healthiest ways, and auditions were very stressful for a guy as shy as Taekwoon-hyung. 

“… _and_?”

“He’s good,” Wonshik said. “I mean. He’s really good, he’s just... shy? I guess? He’s really weird sometimes...” Like the times he was inexplicably physically affectionate. Or the times when he hid when people got loud. Or the times he just fell asleep, wherever he was, standing, sitting, leaning—just immediately unconscious.

He was exactly like a cat, except being like a cat made you a really strange human being.

“Wait, are you friends or not?” Hakyeon asked. Wonshik shrugged.

“I think so? Anyway, let me talk to him, see if he’ll come down and just read for you. I can vouch for him musically and I think he gets—your message. It’ll take me a couple of days, but don’t give up yet.”

“Wonshik.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s your message too,” Hakyeon reminded softly. “The words are mine. The music is yours.”

God damn Hakyeon and his reassuring powers of calm and confidence. Wonshik had worked so hard on this project, and he knew it was kind of ridiculous because it wasn’t even _his project_ , but at some point after Hakyeon told him the point, he started to hear it in his head everywhere he went.

Who are we, when we aren’t with others? Can you be someone in isolation? Are we defined by, or inherently restricted by, the identities others make for us? 

Is everyone gay?

That last one was probably unintentional on Hakyeon’s part, being that he didn’t seem to have a heterosexual bone in his body and simply exuded comfortable homosexuality from every pore at times. But Wonshik definitely read—and wrote—that in, because yeah, that was kind of his takeaway.

Wonshik wasn’t gay. But he also definitely wasn’t straight, and he wasn’t sure bisexual was quite right either. He tried not to overthink it and just focus on the music. 

And now, he had to convince Taekwoon to meet Hakyeon.

 

 

“No,” Taekwoon said before Wonshik had even said hello. “I don’t want to.” 

“I haven’t asked you anything yet,” Wonshik protested. He extended the bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos he’d brought as a bribe-slash-peace offering. Taekwoon was a chronic snacker and consumer of spicy things. He took the bag, but maintained his expression of blanket refusal.

“But you were going to,” he accused Wonshik, struggling with the bag. Wordlessly, he passed it back; Wonshik patiently opened it for him and returned it. Taekwoon immediately stuffed a handful in his mouth with an expression of deep suspicion.

“It’s singing,” Wonshik said carefully, settling on the sofa next to Taekwoon. They lived in a sharehouse with three other guys, but they were all seniors and had girlfriends they preferred to spend their time with. Taekwoon was also a senior, but being a cat, he had no interest in having a girlfriend.

At least, that’s what Wonshik assumed. He’d never asked. 

“Just singing?” Taekwoon said, munching while continuing to maintain his expression. He did however lean against Wonshik’s shoulder, which was an indication he was listening. Or falling asleep. Sometimes both.

“Well, no,” Wonshik said. “It’s that show.”

“Cha Hakyeon’s,” Taekwoon supplied, having heard Wonshik whine about it enough to pick up on names.

“Yeah. We did auditions today, and—hyung, I’m not even joking, we saw nineteen guys and three passed. The guys here are _terrible._ ”

“But you got Jaehwan,” Taekwoon said, offering a Cheeto to Wonshik.

“How did you know?” Wonshik asked, accepting it.

“He’s good. Loud, but good,” Taekwoon said with a shrug. “Pride of the choir or something.” 

“I thought you were the pride of the choir.”

“I quit.”

“Wait, what?” Wonshik asked in surprise. “When?” Taekwoon paused to think, munching more in silence. Wonshik’s tongue was beginning to regret his decision to accept the offered snack.

“Last term?” he said hesitantly. “I forget.”

“Why?” Wonshik pressed. Taekwoon made a sound of displeasure, melting into the sofa more than he already was. Wonshik leaned in obnoxiously close, and Taekwoon reached out a hand to push his face, but was stopped when Wonshik jerked back and pointed to the Cheeto dust.

“Careful with that,” he said, “You’ll burn my face off!”

“They wanted me to commit to a major in singing,” Taekwoon said. “I said no. Then they said I should just leave.” He shrugged. “So I did.”

“That’s incredibly stupid,” Wonshik said, then added, “Of them, I mean.” Taekwoon shrugged again; Wonshik got the impression it was still bugging him, but pestering wouldn’t get them anywhere; with Taekwoon, it was sometimes better to just wait him out.

Or at least, that’s what Wonshik had gathered, over time.

“Look,” Wonshik said seriously, “This thing needs to happen.”

“Because of Cha Hakyeon?”

“Yes. No. Well, I mean, yes, but also, see—uh.” Wonshik stopped short, realizing that he was perhaps not exactly totally out to Taekwoon and didn’t necessarily see how that would play out in terms of their friendship. But then again, Taekwoon was weird and might take it totally in stride without comment. Even that wouldn’t make the ‘I need this play to exist so I have an excuse to spend time with A Guy’ any less awkward.

Taekwoon squinted at him.

“Wonshikkie,” he said in that mild, quiet but also receptive tone he got when he was trying to be nice, “Just tell me.”

“Lee Hongbin is possibly the most attractive human being alive, and if the play doesn’t happen, then I have to stalk him and risk being arrested,” Wonshik said in a rush. Taekwoon stared at him, continuing to munch in silence.

“You need the play to happen because you like a guy,” Taekwoon summarized. 

“Look, if you saw him, you’d understand,” Wonshik said. “Plus he’s a really good actor, and a _baritone._ ”

Curiously, Taekwoon nodded at the last part, as if they were in perfect understanding. 

“If I’m in the play,” Taekwoon continued, “You get to see him more?”

“Almost every day, for several hours.”

“Are you just going to stare at him?” Taekwoon inquired mildly. 

“No, I’m going to talk to him,” Wonshik said firmly. Taekwoon looked skeptical again. Or sleepy. One of the two.

“You,” Taekwoon said, punctuating his words with a Cheeto, “are going to talk calmly to someone you’re excited about.”

“I have four weeks,” Wonshik said. “I’ll get there eventually.”

“Okay,” Taekwoon said with a nod. “And what do I get?”

“You get to sing,” Wonshik said. “Hakyeon-hyung’s play is really good, and you already know the music is good. Also—”

Taekwoon tilted his head.

“Hakyeon-hyung is...” Wonshik ran through a list of descriptions in his head, before coming up with a pretty flat one, “Nice.”

The Cheeto of Skepticism returned.

“Nice.”

“ _Really_ nice. Encouraging and friendly. Likes everyone.”

“Does he like Jaehwan?”

“Everyone likes Jaehwan,” Wonshik pointed out. “It’s _Jaehwan._ They did hug though.”

The Cheeto was munched aggressively.

“Hyung, I know this is—not ideal for you,” Wonshik said seriously. “I know it’s out of your comfort zone, okay? But this is—important. To me. A lot.” His voice dropped several volumes. “I would really appreciate you putting up with four weeks of rehearsal and six performances so I can... see him more.”

Taekwoon looked at him, deeply.

“I have one condition,” Taekwoon said. “Daily Cheetos. A full-size bag, no fun-size stuff. Everyday.”

“Done,” Wonshik said immediately. “I’ll deliver them by tying them to the collar of a cute puppy. Everyday.”

“All puppies are cute,” Taekwoon said with great conviction. “That’s why they’re the best.” He got to the end of his Cheetos bag and looked at Wonshik sadly. “Does the delivery start today, or tomorrow?”

Wonshik sighed.

 

 

It was on his way to meet Taekwoon after class that he bumped into Hongbin again. Wonshik saw him coming, but he had his head down and seemed to be extremely involved in a handheld game system of some kind. His fingers were moving like lightning and he was biting his lip in concentration.

Wonshik hesitated, but when they were about to pass each other, he couldn’t hold it in.

“Hey, Hongbin!”

Hongbin looked up with a jerk, immediately hitting pause without even looking at the screen.

“...Wonshik, right?” he said after a moment. The fact that he had to think to summon Wonshik’s name from his memory hurt a little, but Wonshik hid it well. 

“Are you coming from class?”

“Yeah.”

“...Which class?” Wonshik prodded.

“Poetry appreciation,” Hongbin said. “We’re... appreciating poetry.” He seemed less than enthusiastic about it.

“Oh, I took that last year,” Wonshik said. “I did my final paper on how rap is a form of modern-day spoken poetry. Well, okay, some rap. I realize some of it is garbage.”

“So you like... music other than musicals?” Hongbin asked curiously. 

“This musical is not... like other musicals,” Wonshik said carefully. “Hakeyon-hyung doesn’t want a crazy, over-produced musical number; he wants something a little more... indie, I guess? I’m not Sondheim or anything.”

“Wait, _you_ made the music?” Hongbin said with wide eyes. “Not him?”

“He made a couple,” Wonshik said with a shrug. “Then he recruited me. One of my friends helps sometimes.”

Hongbin looked down at his game, then up at Wonshik with a hopeful expression.

“Can you teach me to sing it?” he asked. Wonshik blinked. It wasn’t that he _couldn’t_ , but the music was, technically, still in progress and he wasn’t supposed to let anyone besides Taekwoon hear it. Honestly, Taekwoon probably shouldn’t have been allowed either, but what Hakyeon didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He knew Wonshik had someone helping; that was detailed enough.

He could, however, offer some different help.

“I can’t teach you the songs, they’re not fully done,” he said apologetically. Hongbin drooped, but Wonshik reached out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I _can_ help you figure out where your range is so you aren’t fighting with your pitch so much.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Hongbin said with a sigh.

“How about we sit down somewhere and I’ll tell you?” Wonshik suggested with absolutely no ulterior motive about sitting down and chatting with Hongbin. Taekwoon? Who was that? Probably not important. 

“I was on my way to get a late lunch,” Hongbin said, gesturing to the dining hall. “We could go there.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Wonshik said with a smile. Hongbin looked at his hand, which was still resting on Hongbin’s (noticeably firm) shoulder. Wonshik pulled back, laughing awkwardly in the hopes that Hongbin wouldn’t notice him noticing.

 

 

“So here’s the problem,” Wonshik said, three bites into his burrito. Hongbin was watching him closely as he ate his own; it seemed a bit much for him to hold, somehow. “Most music these days is written for specific vocal types: women get soprano and mezzo-soprano, men get tenor. Both are higher range.”

“What’s Park Hyoshin?” Hongbin interrupted suddenly. Wonshik blinked, then considered. 

“Tenor. He’s got some lower range, but it’s not well-developed. Good head voice for his upper register though,” Wonshik said. He realized that Hongbin understand exactly none of it, and tried to rephrase. “He’s higher than you, can go higher than is strictly comfortable, and slightly lower, but not well.”

“Wait, what am I again?” Hongbin asked, taking a careful bite of his burrito.

“Baritone,” Wonshik said. “You’re lower. It’s why you get a little squeaky on higher stuff; your voice doesn’t naturally go there, so everything tenses up.”

“Is that... unusual?”

“Ehhh?” Wonshik said, shrugging. “I’m a baritone too, but hip-hop is a lot more varied for range than pop, for example. Depends on the genre. Musicals are weird, because the heroes tend to be tenors, and the villains are baritone or bass. It’s hard to find a good bass though.”

“So... is there a baritone role in this thing? Or do I have to learn to sing higher?” Hongbin asked with a slight pout that would most definitely haunt Wonshik’s dreams.

“There is,” Wonshik said firmly. “I wrote one.” The way Hongbin’s face lit up at the news made Wonshik’s stomach do flips. “I’ll help you, once we can work on them. There are some higher parts in places, but you can probably hit them with a little practice. I’m not really a vocal coach or anything, but we’re the same range, so I’ll just do what my coach did.”

“I want to hear _you_ sing,” Hongbin said, his expression turning a bit sneaky. “You must be pretty good if you got tapped for the music.”

“I got tapped for _composition_ ,” Wonshik corrected humbly. “I’m not bad, but there are a lot of people better than me.”

“No,” Hongbin said, shaking his head. “You’re definitely good. You know what you’re talking about.”

Wonshik basked in the praise, however much he disagreed with it. He would accept Hongbin’s opinion more fully after the first training session happened.

His phone buzzed. He yanked it out of his pocket to glare, before feeling a wave of guilt at the messages that were labelled SPACE KITTY-HYUNG:

_Space Kitty-Hyung: are you coming?_

_Space Kitty-Hyung: Wonshikkie i’m cold_

_Space Kitty-Hyung: nvm i'll go by myself_

“Shit,” Wonshik said, checking the time stamps. By his estimate, Taekwoon had probably gone into the theater about ten minutes ago; if he bumped into Hakyeon and saw The Materials (as Hakyeon called his massive collection of papers) Wonshik would be paying for it later.

“I’m really sorry,” Wonshik said to Hongbin, “I’ve gotta go. I was supposed to meet someone—”

“Your girlfriend?” Hongbin said. “It’s fine, don’t make her mad.”

“Oh, no, I don’t have a girlfriend,” Wonshik said with a laugh. “It’s my friend, he’s—anyway, he’s probably causing trouble and I have to intercept.” He paused, wondering if it would be crossing any sort of lines, before deciding to just fuck it. 

“Can I have your number?” he asked quickly. “Then we can meet up.”

“I thought you had it,” Hongbin said. “It’s on the clipboard, right?”

“I don’t take any of those,” Wonshik said, surprised Hongbin thought he would just copy private, personal information like that. “That’s for the director; nobody gave _me_ their info, they gave the theater their info.”

“Oh,” Hongbin said, surprised. “That’s—really considerate of you.” Wonshik blushed. Hongbin didn’t seem to notice, because he reached out and took Wonshik’s phone from him, entering his number in lightning quick, calling himself so he’d have Wonshik’s number, and handing it back.

“See you later?” Hongbin asked, smiling that look that made Wonshik’s knees turn to jelly.

“Right,” Wonshik said. “See you later!”

He took off at a run; hopefully, Taekwoon and Hakyeon would both be alive when he got there. It might be too much to ask for them to not have mauled each other or destroyed property in some way.

 

 

“Hyung!” he shouted, “You said you’d wait for me!”

“I said what?” Hakyeon asked, confused.

“Not you,” Wonshik said urgently, pointing at his errant housemate. “Taekwoon-hyung!”

“I waited,” Taekwoon said with a shrug. “You took too long.” Wonshik glanced at his watch; he really wasn’t _that_ late. Probably Taekwoon had, in fact, gotten cold enough to wander inside the nearest building in search of warmth; it wouldn’t be the first time he did.

“You can’t just _walk into the theater,_ ” Wonshik said. There were _manners_ in theatre, rules that had to be followed! From now until the end of the term, this entire room was Hakyeon’s, and only Hakyeon’s. Taekwoon stared at him.

“I just did,” he said as if that cleared him of any and all responsibility. Hakyeon propped his hand on his chin, leaning forwards and staring at Wonshik with a small smile.

“Wonshikkie,” he said, smile growing. “Is this your surprise for me? My fourth?”

“I’m not making any promises, hyung,” Wonshik said, raising both hands defensively. “He’s, uh.” Taekwoon was staring at him with the face that meant ‘your death at my hands is imminent’. Or, ‘How dare you forget my Cheetos, you are worthless to me without them.’ Taekwoon got pretty hangry sometimes.

“Can you sing?” Hakyeon asked Taekwoon.

“I wrote half your songs,” Taekwoon informed him. Then, as an afterthought, he jerked a thumb in Wonshik’s direction. “With him.” Wonshik felt that was rather misleading; it certainly wasn’t half, and Taekwoon didn’t contribute much on the actual production end of things, just the compositional end. Which was still not half.

Hakyeon glared at Wonshik; he was going to get smacked for this, even though Taekwoon definitely made it sound worse than it was.

“How about dancing?”

Taekwoon gave a single sharp nod, which was simply confirmation. He usually only moved his head once; you had to be watching for it to catch it, because rather than repeat it, he just stared at you in silence. 

Wonshik usually just offered him food at that point, because that tended to be what he wanted anyway. Sometimes he wanted to actually speak, but that happened during their evenings at home, when everyone else was gone. The other guys probably meant well, but they harassed him a lot about being a frigid... person with no feelings; on the contrary, those kinds of statements hurt his feelings quite a bit, and he would avoid them whenever possible.

Wonshik knew Taekwoon knew other people, but it seemed like most of his friends had been seniors last year, and were gone now; Taekwoon was too shy to try and make new friends.

“Acting,” Hakyeon put forth, clearly taking the nod as a semi-confirmation.

“I’ve never tried,” he admitted.

“I think he could,” Wonshik volunteered. “He’s pretty expressive when singing, so it’s not going to be a huge leap.”

“You said you—you’ve heard our music,” Hakyeon said. “Made some, even. What do you think?”

“It’s good,” Taekwoon said. When he failed to elaborate in any form, Hakyeon pushed a stack of paper out of the way and lay down face-first on the floor. He seemed to have lost the will to live.

Wonshik wasn’t used to seeing Hakyeon so... discouraged. A little down, a little worried, but not... borderline regretting every decision he’d ever made.

“Uh,” Wonshik asked. “Hyung, you okay there?”

“No,” Hakyeon said. “I’m really not.” 

“Does he do this a lot?” Taekwoon asked quietly. Wonshik shook his head adamantly; he had no idea what had suddenly caused this. Taekwoon raised a hand, glanced back at Wonshik, then cautiously put a hand forward... to pat Hakyeon gently on the head. It was such a weirdly friendly gesture from him that Wonshik couldn’t help but snort.

“Did you hear it?” Hakyeon asked the floor, but also Taekwoon. “Did you hear—”

_If we all closed our eyes from here until forever_  
_Even if I never saw your face,_  
_I know I would have found you from your heart beat._  
_It doesn’t matter what we are, my love._  
_All that matters is who we’ll be._

Wonshik was beaming. This was his friend, this was the person he knew would fill the hole in Hakyeon’s passion project. His voice wasn’t as powerful as some, or as clear, but it had a rawness to it that Wonshik absolutely loved. The fact that Taekwoon was sitting there, singing to a stranger, made him so proud he couldn’t have wiped the grin off his face if he’d tried. 

“That was beautiful,” Hakyeon said, slightly breathless, coming back to life as if Taekwoon had revived him completely. “That was so beautiful.”

Oops. That was not going to fly. Sure enough, Taekwoon turned his back to Hakyeon, fanning himself; he was already blushing. Trapped between a proud Wonshik and an adoring Hakyeon, he attempted to curl into a ball and hide.

“Stop,” he said. “Please stop.”

“No, it was perfect!” Hakyeon cried, getting up and crawling across the floor. He grabbed Taekwoon’s arm and pulled on it. “Please be in my show! Please! It was perfect, you’re perfect, you—”

Taekwoon lifted his head and looked and Wonshik.

“ _Help me!_ ” he squeaked. Wonshik promptly burst into laughter, bracing his hands on his knees. He felt a little bad for Taekwoon, he really did, but Hakyeon was just so _sincere_ and Taekwoon had no clue that this was just how Hakyeon was: unrelentingly supportive. Taekwoon made multiple attempts to flee or enlist Wonshik’s aid. In a final act of desperation to spare himself from the apparent torture of compliments, he abruptly turned and tackled Hakyeon to the ground, seemingly about to punch him; he caught Taekwoon’s punch with one hand, and his wrist with the other.

Shit. They’d gone too far; he was getting angry. He wasn’t _violent_ so much as prone to panic that translated into punching. Wonshik had jumped forward, but Hakyeon cut him off.

“ _Wonshik._ ”

Taekwoon was sitting on Hakyeon, still red as a cherry, and still a combination of embarrassed and angry. Hakyeon, however, was calm.

“If hitting me will really make you feel better, I’ll let you,” he said. “But I want you to think about it for a second. Think about whether beating me for complimenting you is really worth it.”

“Hyung,” Wonshik said, hoping to remind Taekwoon that he was still there, still willing to take him away if it was too much. Taekwoon deflated and climbed off of Hakyeon to curl up again.

“Sorry,” he murmured. Hakyeon put a hand on his back; Wonshik hissed. Like most cats, you touch them when invited to do so. Taekwoon would literally curl up next to Wonshik on the sofa, or sleep on him, or sleep in the same bed if he was in a weird mood, but Wonshik had never seen him tolerate anything like that with any other person.

“You weren’t really mad,” Hakyeon observed in that frighteningly perceptive way of his. “I just didn’t take your ‘stop’ seriously. I’m sorry for ignoring that.” He gave Taekwoon one more gentle pat before pulling back his hand. “I really would like you to join, though. So far the only other strong vocal we have is—”

“Jaehwan,” Taekwoon said. “I heard.”

“You know him?” Hakyeon asked, surprised.

“Everyone knows him,” Taekwoon said. “He’s loud.”

“He’s adorable,” Wonshik corrected honestly.

“He’s loud,” Taekwoon repeated more firmly. 

“Loud is useful in theatre,” Hakyeon said brightly. “In fact, it’s preferred. Mics are unreliable.”

“Says the guy who spent three days researching mics so he could buy four,” Wonshik snorted. Hakyeon glared at him, gathering a stack of papers and tapping them pointedly.

“I didn’t know who we’d get. Can’t take chances.” He paused, staring at Taekwoon in a way Wonshik hadn’t seen before. Was he evaluating him or something? “Do you need a mic?”

“I’m not sure,” Taekwoon admitted. “It depends on how much I’m moving.”

“Fair,” Hakyeon acknowledged. “If it helps, I’m still working on the choreo; adjustments can and will be made.” Taekwoon seemed satisfied with that, and lapsed into silence. He reached for the stack of lyrics, but a furtive glance at Hakyeon made him pull back. Hakyeon smiled at him.

“You wrote some of the music,” he said. “It’s only fair that you get to read the words.”

Cautiously, Taekwoon pulled the stack towards him and began slowly leafing through pages. Wonshik glanced at his watch again and winced; he had a lab class he would only barely be on time for if he ran _right now_.

“Hyung,” Wonshik called. Taekwoon didn’t even look up; he was lost in words. Hakyeon nodded at him. “I’ve got class; are you two... um...” He was trying to get a read of Taekwoon, but there was no way to get his attention without also alerting Hakyeon.

“We’re fine, Wonshik,” he said waving a hand in a shooing motion. “Thank you.” Wonshik saluted him before booking it out the door; hopefully Hakyeon could withhold his praise and Taekwoon could spend some quiet time with another human without being distressingly shy and embarrassed.

If anybody could make that happen, it would definitely be Hakyeon. Plus it was pizza night; he’d probably be able to sneak some out of the dining hall for a late-night dinner and jam session.

 

 

The first line-reading was wonderful.

Well, okay. Wonshik assumed it was wonderful; he was enjoying himself a great deal, because he’d snagged the space on the floor next to Hongbin. He and Jaewhan had a bit of a stare-off about it in the first few seconds, but then Sanghyuk threw himself down on the floor, looked at Jaehwan with a grin, and patted the spot next to him invitingly.

Wonshik booked it, sitting so hard he made a ‘thud’ sound. Hongbin jumped.

“Hi,” Wonshik said, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“Hi?” Hongbin said cautiously. “Why are you so excited?”

_Because you’re fucking gorgeous and I get to bask in your presence for the next few hours._

“We’ve been working on this show for a long time,” he said instead. He zoned in and out over the course of the line-reading, coming back when directly addressed, and spending the rest of his time lost in Hongbin’s crisp jawline and smooth baritone. Once, he caught Taekwoon staring at him; he jerked his head at Hongbin.

_Look! Just look at him!_

Taekwoon rolled his eyes; Wonshik glared.

He zoned back in when they circled in on Hakyeon’s beloved “ambiguity” trope.

“Define ‘ambiguous’,” Sanghyuk said skeptically. “Are we talking cultural ambiguity? Verbal ambiguity? Narrative ambiguity?” When everyone in the room stared at him for a moment, Sanghyuk added defensively, “This is important stuff, you guys, come on!”

“What even is narrative ambiguity?” Wonshik asked, having never gotten a clear answer from Hakyeon. When no one answered, including Sanghyuk, Hakyeon sighed patiently.

“It’s like the unreliable narrator trope,” he said. “Is the narrative, the story, consistent? Logical? Does it have cohesion and lucidity? Narrative ambiguity would mean that the story is, in some respect, unclear. And yes, to a degree, that is what we’re going for.”

“Oh my god,” Jaehwan gasped. “I swore to myself I would never be in another art piece again.”

“What happened at the last one?” Sanghyuk asked.

“I had to sit on a chair and sing while people—strangers—painted on me,” he said with a shudder. “I did _not_ put that one on my resume.”

“Painted on you?” Sanghyuk repeated. “...Were you naked or something?”

“NO,” Jaehwan shrieked. “BUT THERE WERE WANDERING HANDS AND I WAS NOT OKAY.” Sanghyuk immediately looked sorry he’d asked.

“I’m sorry, but I’m still having trouble with this name thing,” Hongbin said. He seemed unaware of the way Wonshik was gradually leaning on him, and equally unaware of the look of utter peace on Wonshik’s face every time he spoke. He couldn’t even help the leaning; it felt like being pulled in towards the sun.

Fuck, he had it bad for this boy.

“I just want to add,” Wonshik said, raising a hand, “The music isn’t quite... done yet. For similar reasons to what Hakyeon-hyung just explained. We’ll adjust it to fit the characters you develop. This isn’t a finished product, because—”

“It’s not supposed to be finished,” Sanghyuk interrupted. “It will never be ‘finished’ because it’s—alive?”

“You’re such a clever freshman,” Hakyeon cooed. “I might just keep you, after this.”

“I hope you like hiding bodies,” Sanghyuk said cheerfully, “I leave a lot of carnage!”

“How are we assigning lines, then?” Jaehwan asked with a frown.

“Parts are labelled one through four,” Hakyeon explained. “Jaehwan, you’re One. Hongbin is Two, Sanghyuk is Three, and Taekwoon is Four.” Two was the role written as a baritone.

“There’s a five here,” Hongbin pointed out.

“Five is... we might get to five. Later.”

“So can we hear some of the music today?” Hongbin asked.

“Uh,” Hakyeon said, glancing at Wonshik. He was about to offer to play some of the mostly-finished tracks off his phone, but he got cut off.

“Hakyeon can sing one,” Taekwoon suggested softly. Hakyeon stared at him in thinly-veiled irritation.

“No, I can’t,” Hakyeon said. Taekwoon looked at him like he was staring into Hakyeon’s soul.

“You can,” he said. There was something happening between them that Wonshik wasn’t entirely following, but it was different. It was new.

Odd.

“You can sing?” Jaehwan asked, suddenly perking up. “You never said that! Are you good?”

“I’m—good at a lot of things,” Hakyeon said vaguely. Wonshik shook his head; Hakyeon wasn’t bragging. He _was_ good at a lot of things. The problem was that he wasn’t _great_ at any one thing; he was a good dancer, a good singer, a good actor—mostly through hard work and stubbornness. Dance was the only thing that seemed to come easily to him; everything else, he fought for.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Hakyeon said, “Let’s read through the lines as they are, they we can talk about what you get from them and what I want to say with them, shall we?”

Wonshik went back to leaning on Hongbin, who had tilted his script towards Wonshik under the mistaken impression that he was doing it because he couldn’t see it. Sometimes his head tilted towards Wonshik’s at the bottom of a page, and Wonshik smiled every single time.

 

 

“This looks much more intimidating than it is, I swear,” Wonshik said, pushing the door to the recording studio open. He spent a lot of time in here, forcing the aging university equipment to give him the sound he was looking for. Some of the electronics were almost as old as he was; he was pretty sure there was a fax machine in here somewhere. But it did have a separate recording booth, one-way glass window, and mixing board.

“Holy shit,” Hongbin said, eyes wide. “We can use this?”

“Yeah; they used to run a radio station out of here, but it got too expensive, so they stopped. Now it’s kind of... whoever wants to use it, uses it. None of it is valuable enough to steal anyway.”

Hongbin looked at the recording booth with anxiety. Wonshik put a calming hand on his back.

“Chill,” he said. “We’ll get to it later. For now, this.” He gestured to an ancient electric keyboard; a proper music department would have more than one piano, but since the choir was using theirs, they had to work with this... thing that technically made music.

Wonshik hooked the folding chair underneath it over towards Hongbin with one foot, then lifted another one from a dusty stack for himself. He sat down and turned the keyboard on.

“I’m assuming you don’t play?” he asked, running a quick chord down the keys to warm his fingers, and the practically ancient machine, up. Hongbin shook his head, scratching his ear sheepishly.

“I should probably learn, but...” he paused, then added quietly. “I’m trying to teach myself guitar right now.”

“Really?” Wonshik said, delighted. “That’s awesome, guitar is a super flexible instrument.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” Wonshik grinned. “It is literally in every major music genre, right? If you play guitar, you can play _anything._ ”

“Right? That’s what I thought too!” Hongbin said, getting excited. “Like, sure, I like pop and indie rock, but sometimes I really like older kind of... folk-y stuff and some jazz, so if I can play that guitar then it won’t matter if my tastes change, I’ll still—” he stopped abruptly, dropping his head.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, wringing his hands. “Got too excited. I’ll shut up now.”

“Hey,” Wonshik said gently. “Why are you apologizing for liking something?”

“Because it’s annoying,” Hongbin said, still refusing to lift his head. “Nobody wants to hear me nerd out over something stupid like—”

“Like music?” Wonshik said, turning away to run his fingers across the keys again. He wasn’t playing any particular song initially, but then he got an idea. He didn’t know it properly, and he definitely was making up a lot of it, but he just wanted to make Hongbin smile, so he played the best on-the-spot version of _Wildflower_ he could manage.

“...You remembered,” Hongbin said, lifting his head in wonder. Wonshik beamed at him, promptly fucking up a chord and quickly tried to cover up the mistake. Then his correction turned into another fuck up. Wonshik decided to screw the melody and just move on to a verse. 

“I like music,” Wonshik commented. “In case that wasn’t clear. Hakyeon-hyung too. That’s why we’re _doing_ this.” He was essentially murdering Hongbin’s favorite song at that point, but he felt like it helped underscore his message. “We nerd out over it all the time. Hakyeon-hyung will also nerd out about dance, theatre, film noir, and candle-making given half the opportunity to do so.”

“Don’t you get... annoyed?” Hongbin said carefully, perching on the chair Wonshik had offered him before. “Isn’t it obnoxious?”

“Well, he can get obnoxious, but his happiness isn’t,” Wonshik said, looping back to the melody as if he would have magically improved. “Nobody is obnoxious because of what they like.”

“I am,” Hongbin said. “I’m—I’m also boring.”

Wonshik stopped playing; he couldn’t sit there and let Hongbin quietly crumble in his adopted studio. He faced Hongbin on the chair, put a hand on his shoulders and gave him a very gentle shake.

“I don’t know who told you that, but they’re full of shit. I’m serious.”

Hongbin looked him dead in the eyes, daring Wonshik to somehow twist it around, but there was no way Kim Wonshik was going to let Lee Hongbin walk out of his studio thinking he was _boring._

“You—you’re not like I thought you would be,” Hongbin said quietly.

“I get that a lot,” Wonshik said, dropping his hands and turning back to the piano. Just because he wasn’t going to let Hongbin be hard on himself didn’t mean he’d let go of his own insecurities. There was only so many hours in a day.

“It’s not—I didn’t think you were a jerk or anything,” Hongbin said in a rush, putting an urgent hand on Wonshik’s knee. “Just—you’re really—nice. No, not nice. Kind. You’re kind.”

The compliment paired with the touch sent butterflies throughout Wonshik’s torso.

“Thanks,” he said at last. “I try. Now are you ready to nerd out? Because I’m going to nerd out.”

“Yeah, let’s—let’s nerd the fuck out,” Hongbin said with a grin.

“Good. Let’s throw _Wildflower_ down a key and see what happens,” Wonshik said.

Hongbin’s hand was still, somehow, on his knee. 

 

Pizza night had become something of a tradition when they both had a night class that started at five and let out at seven-thirty; the dining hall was usually closed by the time they got there. It was either Chinese delivery, or pizza, and pizza was ever so slightly cheaper. It might have balanced out once you figured in the cokes, extra toppings, and sometimes hot wings if Taekwoon had had a rough day. They always split it clean down the middle anyway, but sometimes Taekwoon would bring him coffee over the course of an all-nighter out of the goodness of his heart, so he didn’t mind so much.

“So what’d you talk about with Hakyeon-hyung?” Wonshik said conversationally. Taekwoon turned pink.

“Nothing,” he said.

“That was easily the worst lie you have ever told me,” Wonshik informed him.

“The play,” Taekwoon said.

“Zzzt, try again.”

“You’re annoying,” Taekwoon grumped at him, before putting a piece of pizza in his mouth and consuming it the way a rodent would, if they ate pizza: in a constant motion, no pulling away. Just a food conveyor belt.

“You’re avoiding the question, which is... weird,” Wonshik pointed out with a generous amount of side-eye. When Taekwoon reached the end of his pizza, he sat up and pointed at Wonshik, finger directly in his face.

“Then you have to tell me about Hongbin,” he said as if this was some sort of dire punishment. Wonshik blinked at him, a thought bubbling up that he was not at all expecting.

“Is my thing with Hongbin related to whatever you were doing with Hakyeon?” he asked curiously. “...Do you _like_ him?”

Taekwoon turned red, grabbed a sofa cushion, and covered his face with it while he slumped back on the sofa.

“No,” he said firmly into the cushion.

“Wow,” Wonshik said. “That’s—wow.”

“Shut up.”

“ _You like Hakyeon._ ” Wonshik repeated, still somewhat staggered by the revelation. “Of all the people on the planet who could somehow in some way be compatible with you, it’s _Cha Hakyeon_?!”

Taekwoon made a noise into the cushion that suggested he was either dying, or wanted to be dying. Wonshik patted him comfortingly on the thigh.

“If it helps,” Wonshik said, “He’s gay. Like, even for musical theatre, he’s _very_ gay.”

Taekwoon made another dying sound; Wonshik was pretty sure he had both made it better, and made it much, much worse.

“You and Hakyeon, huh?” he pondered out loud. “I hope you’re ready to get hugged a lot. A lot, a lot.”

 

Jaehwan certainly made life more interesting, and Sanghyuk absolutely wasn’t helping. In a manner of minutes, they’d taken a fairly straightforward, neutral set of lines and made it so blatantly flirtatious Wonshik knew Hakyeon would love it. The pair of them had something... going on, and it wasn’t entirely clear what—only that there was something.

Then they came to the song. 

“Sing it,” Taekwoon said quietly, and Wonshik glanced at him in surprise. He sounded confident, like he already knew what it sounded like. It wasn’t one of the songs they’d worked on; when did he hear it?

When Hakyeon finally gave in and sang, Wonshik smiled. _See Me_ was a better song than Hakyeon thought it was, and Wonshik wished he had more confidence in it. Especially when he was singing it; it was really well suited to the tambour of his voice. 

“Could you always do that?” Hongbin asked. “Did you learn?” Hakyeon smiled at him; Wonshik patted his leg sympathetically.

“I practiced. A lot, actually.”

“A lot, a lot,” added Wonshik. He would know; he was the one being forced to work around Hakyeon’s singing, dancing, and acting classes late last year.

“Does everyone understand why that song is there?” Hakyeon asked the group. “What happened?”

“One and Three...” Jaehwan started, but the sentence trailed off. Hongbin was nodding his head quite firmly, so Hakyeon gestured for him to pick up from there.

“One and Three developed a relationship,” Hongbin said. “Neither of them have identities, but by developing a relationship, identities formed around it.”

“The song is One acknowledging that they don’t know who they are, but that the relationship between them is important anyway,” Sanghyuk added. “It’s something they’ve been waiting for, even.”

“Nobody has a name because nobody... is anybody, are they?” Jaehwan said. “I mean. That’s super confusing but it also makes... some kind of sense.”

Hakyeon clapped his hands, grinning delightedly. 

“Wait, what do we mean by relationship?” Hongbin asked with a frown. “That sounded... I don’t know. Less than platonic when you did it just now. Is it a romantic relationship?”

“Do you want it to be?” Hakyeon posed to the two actors in question. 

“No,” said Jaehwan.

“Yes,” said Sanghyuk, at exactly the same time. They looked at each other, then quickly away. Hongbin rolled his eyes before glancing at Wonshik; this was getting ridiculous.

“So there you are,” Hakyeon said. “That’s conflict. One says no, Three says yes, and that’s something they have to negotiate. Who and what they are, together and apart, in whatever form that takes.”

“I have a headache,” Taekwoon announced. He probably did not, but it drew Hakyeon’s attention anyway.

“Shush,” Hakyeon admonished him. “This is important.” Despite the scolding, Taekwoon had a small smile on his face; for Taekwoon, that was actually pretty significant.

“So how do we... do that?” Sanghyuk asked cautiously. Hakyeon beamed at him.

“Through the text. There is conflict written in, it’s just not defined. You make it through implication.”

“This is such an art piece,” Jaehwan said, putting his head in his hands. “Why do I keep doing these?”

“Maybe you’re just a masochist,” Sanghyuk suggested. Jaehwan turned a strange color and refused to make eye contact with him. Everyone noticed. Taekwoon looked embarrassed on their behalf; Hongbin was snickering.

Hakyeon looked at the ceiling. He was probably asking the gods for patience.

“Hyung,” Wonshik said, nudging him with an elbow. “Should we keep going?”

“Yes,” Hakyeon said after collecting himself. “Let’s keep going.”

Unfortunately, about an hour before they officially finished, Wonshik had to duck out for his lab class again. He reluctantly stood up from his prime sitting spot next to Hongbin; weirdly, Hongbin grabbed his hand.

“You’re leaving?” he whispered.

“I’ve got class,” Wonshik whispered back without letting go of his hand. “Sorry.” 

He already hadn’t wanted to go; now he _really_ didn’t want to go. It didn’t help that Hongbin would be sitting next to Hakyeon without Wonshik between them; he liked Hakyeon, but Hakyeon in Director Mode was a bit quicker with critique than he was normally.

“Scoot next to Jaehwan,” Wonshik whispered. “He’ll protect you.” Hongbin didn’t look particularly reassured, but he let go and scooted subtly towards the very embarrassed, probably-almost-definitely masochistic, Jaehwan.

 

“Hakyeon is beautiful,” Taekwoon said abruptly in the middle of the TV show they were watching. He was curled up against Wonshik, both of them getting pleasantly sleepy. Pausing the TV, Wonshik looked down at his friend’s head.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s beautiful,” Taekwoon said with a sigh. “It’s annoying.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Wonshik pointed out. Taekwoon sighed again, but more heavily. Wonshik turned the TV off entirely, fairly certain Taekwoon was now in a talking mood.

“It’s annoying,” Taekwoon insisted. “I want—I like to be around him, but he doesn’t—he doesn’t want to be around me.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” Taekwoon said sadly. “Probably because I’m weird and I make people uncomfortable. I just—I just want to be closer to him. You said he’s really friendly, so I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

“He _is_ really friendly,” Wonshik said, confused. Why would Hakyeon be shaking Taekwoon off? He hadn’t heard Hakyeon saying anything negative about his weird, talented friend. If anything, he seemed unusually fond of Taekwoon at times, fussing over him and directing him with a much softer tone than he used with anyone else. 

“He runs away from me,” Taekwoon said. “I keep thinking, oh, he likes this, it’s okay, and then—then he runs away.”

“I wish I could tell you what that means, but... I’ve never seen him do that before,” Wonshik said apologetically.

“What does Hongbin do?” Taekwoon asked, and Wonshik felt himself blushing. They’d spent hours together in the studio practicing; Hongbin seemed to be gaining confidence, even joking around with him. He’d relaxed so much.

“He’s fun,” Wonshik said. “He’s kind of savage sometimes, especially about Hakyeon; it’s great. I think he’s going to do really well after this is all over too.” Wonshik tried to ignore the way his stomach dropped; would Hongbin continue to want to spend time with him once the show was over? Were they friends, at this point?

“It sounds like you really care about him,” Taekwoon murmured sleepily into his shoulder.

“I do,” Wonshik said. “More every single day.”

“Good,” Taekwoon said. “That’s good, Wonshik.”

They fell into silence; Taekwoon fell asleep, and Wonshik took a picture of him on the couch. He wished other people saw his friend this way: sweet. He put it on Instagram, determined to make the world—or at least his followers—understand Taekwoon a little better.

 

“You’re wrong,” Hongbin said passionately from the furthest point down stage. “You’re wrong, I can do this.”

“Where does that confidence come from?” Taekwoon snapped back from behind. “What have you ever done?”

“I’ve _existed_ ,” Hongbin answered. “It’s been hard, but I’ve been here. I’ve been here so long.”

“Stop,” Hakyeon called from the first row of seats. He frowned at his blocking chart, tapping his pencil on his chin. “Hongbin, how would you feel about facing Taekwoon?”

“Scared,” Hongbin said immediately. Sanghyuk muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘of course’; Jaehwan elbowed him, and got a neck chop for his trouble.

“What if he was standing right next to you, facing out?”

“It could be interesting. It would less clear if I was talking to him, or the audience,” Hongbin said, nodding.

“Good. Let’s try that. Start from line six.”

Wonshik was so busy enjoying the performance, he kept missing his cues; they hadn’t finished setting up the lights and sound tech, so as they rehearsed, Wonshik was supposed to call out his warnings, then the cue proper. Unfortunately, every time Hongbin came on stage, Wonshik lost track of absolutely everything; Hakyeon kept looked at back at him, clearly annoyed.

It didn’t help that Hongbin was legitimately good, and Wonshik kept wanting to read into his lines far more than Hongbin intended. 

After rehearsal, Hakyeon disappeared, probably to dance off his stress. Wonshik got up to go home and was surprised to see Hongbin waiting for him. 

“Good show today,” Wonshik smiled. Hongbin smiled back.

“Thanks,” he said. “I think I’m getting the hang of this ‘random singing’ thing.”

They started walking; Hongbin kept comfortable stride with Wonshik. He didn’t know where Taekwoon had gone after asking where Hakyeon went, but he didn’t really care, because Hongbin was talking and that was more important that whether or not Space Kitty-Hyung was missing.

“I really appreciate all the help,” Hongbin said, ducking his head. “You’ve—you’ve given me a lot of your time.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Wonshik said. “I’m happy to spend time with you.”

Oops. That was not what he meant to say. Hongbin laughed, elbowing him playfully.

“You say that like there’s literally any other human being competing for my time,” he said. “I told you: I’m—”

“ _Not boring_ ,” Wonshik repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. He wanted to strangle the unknown person who had convinced Hongbin he wasn’t worth any attention; it wouldn’t help, but it might have made him feel better.

“I don’t think you’d say that if you knew about my main hobbies,” Hongbin said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders. Was he cold?

“What, the gaming?” Wonshik asked. Hongbin stopped walking and stared at him.

“How did you know?” he asked, shocked.

“You carry a handheld with you literally everywhere,” Wonshik pointed out. “Kind of hard not to notice that.”

“I also play PC,” Hongbin said. “And console, but I’m stuck on the last gen until they drop in price again. I play a lot. Like, all the time I’m home. I—” he paused, before adding, “I’m really good at Overwatch.”

“Damn, you can do everything then,” Wonshik said, impressed. 

“Don’t you think I’m weird?” Hongbin asked urgently. His hands came out of his pockets so he could wrap his arms around himself. “A gaming nerd who doesn’t go outside enough and has no friends and—”

“ _Stop doing that,_ ” Wonshik interrupted. “Stop saying you’re—look, Taekwoon is a complete weirdo who has a serious snack addiction, but he shares with anyone around him and he never laughs at people when they are nervous. Hakyeon-hyung watches makeup tutorials on YouTube and makes candles for charity. They’re weird, both of them, because _everybody is weird_ and that’s _completely normal._ ”

“You’re not weird,” Hongbin said a bit defensively. Wonshik stared at him.

“I have written forty-six songs in the past four months. I have slept in the studio more than once. I _actively look through_ the dogs of Instagram hashtag because I love dogs _that much_. And despite being—” he gestured at himself to indicate his overall body size, “this, I’m legit terrified of every bug I have ever seen. I’m _very weird_.”

“None of that sounds weird to me,” Hongbin said softly.

“Well, it is. I’m okay with being weird; you should be too.”

Hongbin still looked conflicted—and cold. Wonshik reached over to grab his hand and discovered it was freezing.

“Man, you have to say something if you’re cold,” Wonshik grumbled, shrugging off his jacket and holding it out. Hongbin was staring at him again.

“But then you’ll be cold,” he pointed out.

“I live three blocks away,” Wonshik replied. “I’ll live. You, however, live nine.”

Hongbin accepted the jacket in silence. They started walking again, and Hongbin reached out to grab his hand. It was still freezing, so he put their linked hands into the pocket of Wonshik’s jacket. Wonshik tried very hard not to overthink it.

“Come over,” Hongbin said abruptly, and Wonshik suspected there was an audible grinding sound coming out of his head where the thought-train screeched on the tracks.

“Now?!”

“No, stupid,” Hongbin said, jostling him with his shoulder. “Some other time. We can play Overwatch. I’ll destroy you.”

“Sounds fun,” Wonshik said with a grin. “Can I bring the other weirdo? He gets lonely.”

“Taekwoon-hyung?”

“That’s the one.”

“Sure,” Hongbin said quietly. “He can come too.”

“Great,” Wonshik said brightly. “We’ll be there.”

 

When Wonshik got home, he found Taekwoon hiding in his room in near-darkness, playing with his phone and looking utterly dejected. He’d seen Taekwoon in a few sour moods, but this was easily the most _sad_ he’d ever been.

“Are you... okay?” he asked carefully.

“No,” Taekwoon said.

After a few minutes of dead silence, Wonshik asked, still cautious, “Why not?”

“Hakyeon—Hakyeon has a boyfriend.”

“Wait, what?” Wonshik said. “Since when?”

“I don’t know,” Taekwoon said. “But I—I thought we were—and then he pushed me away and told me he couldn’t hurt his boyfriend by being with me.”

Wonshik was baffled; he was 99% sure Hakyeon was single, if only because dating required time that Hakyeon definitely didn’t have, unless he stopped sleeping and eating. He couldn’t rule it out without asking, but he was certain enough to believe that something had been vastly miscommunicated.

“You really like him a lot, don’t you?” Wonshik said, sitting down next to Taekwoon on his bed. A single curt nod, and then:

“I think about him all the time. I can’t help it,” Taekwoon admitted softly.

“Did he specifically say he had a boyfriend? Like, did he use that word?”

“No, he said—he said ‘he means a lot to me and I don’t want to hurt him.’ What else could that mean?” Taekwoon said into his hands.

“Hyung, I don’t know what he meant by that, but I definitely do not think he’s seeing anyone,” Wonshik said. “If he was, I think the entire universe would know. He’s not shy, it would be super obvious.”

“You really think so?” Taekwoon asked, a fluttering hope in his eyes.

“Yeah, I do,” Wonshik said. “Don’t give up yet, okay? Maybe he just didn’t understand what you wanted.”

Taekwoon looked at him, then nodded.

Wonshik hoped he’d be okay.

 

“Hey,” Wonshik said when Hongbin opened the door. “We brought Coke and Cheetos.”

“One bag of Cheetos is mine,” Taekwoon informed them both firmly. Wonshik didn’t think it was worth commenting on, so they just went inside. Hongbin’s place was a single, but pretty spacious considering. It was clean, but still looked like someone lived there, and he had an old sofa that definitely looked like it had been worn into being surprisingly comfortable. He also had a beanbag chair, which Taekwoon zoomed to like it was a game of musical chairs. This left Wonshik and Hongbin on the sofa; Wonshik threw his arm over the back, and Hongbin seemed not to notice when he sat down, side by side.

God, did this feel _right._

Hongbin had not been exaggerating when he said he would destroy them at Overwatch. At first he handicapped himself as much as possible, saying he wouldn’t use his ultimate, or specific weapons, but after some goading, he agreed to just play the way he usually did.

It was a _bloodbath._ Wonshik just kept getting more and more excited, taking pictures and videos almost constantly, and after one particularly expert match against an online opponent, he just hugged Hongbin. For half a second, he thought maybe he shouldn’t have, but Hongbin didn’t seem to mind at all; in fact, he changed how he was sitting, moving slightly forwards so Wonshik could have one arm around his waist, and rest his chin on Hongbin’s shoulder.

At some point, Taekwoon muttered something about being tired and going home; Wonshik waved, then let that arm go around Hongbin’s waist too.

“This guy’s an idiot,” Hongbin murmured, since Wonshik was so close. “Look, he’s not even trying to hide.”

“Beat the shit out of him,” Wonshik murmured back proudly. Hongbin turned his head, smiling, so close—and the world stopped.

Wonshik could kiss him. He was so close, smiling, warm in Wonshik’s arms, and kissing him seemed like the most logical thing in the world.

But he was still figuring out where things were with Hongbin, and Wonshik didn’t want to mess things up by making assumptions and jumping to conclusions, so he just beamed at Hongbin, appreciating the fact that he could sit there with his arms around Hongbin’s waist and chin on his shoulder and that was, miraculously, perfectly okay.

“I can end this in under three minutes,” Hongbin said, turning back to the screen. “Time me.”

“Go,” Wonshik said. He watched Hongbin’s hands dart across the keyboard, almost inhumanly fast. When the game ended in exactly two minutes and thirty-six seconds, he held out his hand for a victorious high-five.

When Hongbin’s hand hit his, Wonshik made a starling realization; his hands were _adorable_.

“Oh my god,” he said in awe. “Your hands are small.”

“I know, I hate them, I—”

“They’re _so cute,_ ” Wonshik gushed. “Put your palm on mine.”

“What?”

“Just do it,” Wonshik insisted. Hesitantly, Hongbin did it. Wonshik felt the same kind of feeling he got when looking at dog pictures: _charmed._

“You’re so cute,” he couldn’t keep himself from saying. “It’s not even fair. Hang on, I want to take a picture.”

“Of my _hand_?”

“Of our hands together,” Wonshik corrected. “They’re so cute, ugh.”

Forget #dogsofinstagram. #Hongbinshands was clearly the superior hashtag.

 

Wonshik, along with pretty much everyone else, was pretty sure Jaehwan and Sanghyuk were at the very least making out, if not banging on the regular. Jaehwan acted pretty much the same, but there were moments. Sanghyuk walked by, reached out, and pinched the back of Jaehwan’s neck. He _shivered_ , his entire body reacting, and Sanghyuk didn’t even stop walking. He just grinned, a touch smug.

“They’re sleeping together,” Hongbin said with confidence.

“Yeah, I would agree,” Wonshik said, sighing.

“Is that... good?” Hongbin asked, tilting his head.

“I don’t... know...” Wonshik said, also tilting.

“Are they dating, or just—” Hongbin gestured vaguely.

“Whatever it is,” Wonshik said, “It’s probably _really_ kinky.”

Hongbin turned bright red and walked away.

 

Wonshik noticed Hongbin acting weird a few days later. It was confusing, because nothing had happened since they hung out and played games; since nothing had happened, or changed, he couldn’t figure out why Hongbin kept looking at him with this darting, anxious expression.

It made him want to apologize, but he didn’t know what he would be apologizing _for_ , and that seemed much worse somehow. Hakyeon also kept glancing between them like he knew something, but refused to share. It was mixed in between pining looks at Taekwoon; sometimes he even looked between Taekwoon and _Wonshik_ with an expression that could only be described as bitter.

The whole situation was so weird, he found himself seeking out the closest mostly-reasonable person that wasn’t involved in this mess: Jaehwan. It helped that Jaehwan seemed to be if not regular-life friends with Hongbin, he was at least theatre-friends with him.

“Hyung, can I, uh. Ask you something?”

Jaehwan looked up from the curry bread he was halfway through demolishing. It was his second, judging by the empty wrapper next to him. If Jaehwan and Taekwoon ever competed in an eating competition, Wonshik was not entirely sure who would win.

“Sure,” Jaehwan said, patting the seat next to him, cheeks puffed out with bread. Wonshik sat down and leaned on him despondently.

“I’m sad,” he told Jaehwan.

“Aw, Wonshikkie, don’t be sad,” Jaehwan said. “You have me!”

“Yeah, but like. Everyone has you,” Wonshik pointed out. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Jaehwan said. “It’s a fact. I’m the best.” He patted Wonshik’s knee comfortingly, which just reminded him of the night in the studio when Hongbin had been so happy to hear Wonshik completely destroy his favorite song.

“I like Hongbin,” he said.

“No surprise; that _jawline_...”

“I thought we were doing okay,” Wonshik continued, because he didn’t disagree. “We were hanging out a lot, having fun... he let me hug him for a while and that seemed cool. But now he’s... kind of avoiding me.”

“Did you kiss?” Jaehwan asked with perhaps too much interest.

“No,” Wonshik said. “I mean, I thought about it for a second, but I decided not to risk it.”

“Maybe you should have kissed him,” Jaehwan suggested. “Maybe he thought you were going to, but then you didn’t, and now he’s sad because he _wanted_ you to kiss him.”

“I don’t even know if he likes guys,” Wonshik said with perhaps the heaviest sigh of all, because wasn’t that just the nightmare scenario he ran through every time he liked a guy. 

“Have you ever seen him with a girl? Talk about a girl? Have pictures of a girl? Posters of girls? Magazines? Sexy trading cards?”

“What the hell is a sexy trading card.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Jaehwaaaan-hyuuuung,” Wonshik whined, grinding his forehead into Jaehwan’s shoulder. “You’re not helllllllpiiiiiing.”

“Wonshikkie, I am helping you always, you know that,” Jaehwan said, wincing at the pain from Wonshik’s love. “But maybe you should just... make it more obvious what you want, and go from there? I don’t think Binnie has much experience so maybe you just need to make the first move.”

Wonshik sat up.

“That’s,” he paused. “Extremely helpful, actually.”

“See?” Jaehwan said, patting him again. “You just need to listen to your elders when we tell you things.”

“Goodbye Jaehwan,” Wonshik said, standing up. “I need to—ask a guy out on a date.”

“Have fun!” Jaehwan said. Wonshik waved over his shoulder, nearly colliding with Sanghyuk. The younger man had a look on his face that was difficult to pin down, but he put a (heavy, strong) hand on Wonshik’s shoulder.

“I like you,” Sanghyuk said with a smile that did not quite suit the way he seemed to be trying to dislocate Wonshik’s shoulder with his palm. “So I’m only going to say this once. Flirt with Jaehwan all you like, but don’t take things any farther than that, yeah?”

“Uh,” said Wonshik, returning the smile out of an automatic fear response. “Sure, got it.”

“Great,” Sanghyuk said, releasing him and heading in Jaehwan’s direction. 

Wonshik decided he really, _really_ did not want to know what that was about.

 

He managed to finally corner Hongbin after rehearsal; he’d had to literally throw his headset down on the desk and fling himself to the door to catch him, but he did it. Hongbin looked both surprised and anxious, taking a step away from Wonshik.

“Hongbin,” Wonshik said, perhaps more urgently than he intended to, “Do you want to have dinner with me?”

Hongbin stared at him.

“Not tonight,” Wonshik said. “When—whenever’s good for you.”

More staring.

“I know a really cool burger place,” Wonshik continued. “They make them fresh. Any toppings you want.”

Stare.

“...please?” he said, looking down so Hongbin would hopefully not see how absolutely wrecked he would be when Hongbin turned him down. If he was going to get rejected—and it definitely felt like he would—Wonshik didn’t really want Hongbin to see his heart get crushed.

“...Tomorrow,” Hongbin said quietly. Wonshik looked up; Hongbin had stepped towards him again. He didn’t look any less anxious, but it didn’t matter because _he said yes._

“Really?” Wonshik said, unable to hide his relief. “You will?”

“Yeah,” Hongbin said, adding a shaky smile. “Burgers sound... great.”

“That’s—okay, great! I’ll come get you! Is six good?” Wonshik asked.

“Six is fine,” Hongbin said, and it took every drop of willpower in Wonshik’s body not to just hug him, right then and there, as hard as he could because he was just _so happy._

“Tomorrow, six,” he repeated. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, Wonshik,” Hongbin said. “I mean, you know where I live, so...”

“And I’ll pick you up there,” he added enthusiastically. “I’ll let you go. Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow. At six. At your place. Then burgers.” He backed up and returned to his makeshift tech booth utterly triumphant.

_Hongbin said yes._

 

Wonshik examined his closet carefully. He was, generally speaking, a causal dresser, but he did like the way a button-down looked on him now and then. Slightly classy, slightly cool, slightly mature. All things he wanted to be for this date. He went back and forth on _which_ button-down about eight million times before settling on a simple navy blue. He’d considered the white, but combined with the presence of ketchup, decided against it. He also rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the top two—then three—buttons.

He evaluated himself in the mirror.

“Taekwoon-hyung!” he called out. “Come here a second!”

Taekwoon stuck his head in, daily bag of Cheeto bribe in his hand.

“What?”

“How do I look?” Wonshik asked.

“You’re wearing clothes,” Taekwoon commented. 

“But do they look good?”

“You always look good,” Taekwoon pointed out; Wonshik felt slightly flattered; Taekwoon had never commented on his style before.

“Thanks, but in particular, right now, in these clothes: on a scale of meh to Dating _the_ Lee Hongbin?”

“A solid Kim Wonshik,” Taekwoon said. When Wonshik glared at him, he added, “You’re good, okay? It’s cool, not too serious.”

“Does it look like I’m trying to win someone’s heart?” Wonshik said, fiddling with his cuff. “Because I’m trying to win someone’s heart.”

“Do you want me to say I’d kiss you? Because I won’t,” Taekwoon said, looking mildly disgusted at the idea. Wonshik was certain he was matching the expression. “Hongbin probably will though.”

“Good. Good, then—okay, this is good. I’m ready. I can do this,” Wonshik said, hoping to pump himself up.

“Is this a date?”

“What? Yeah.”

“Hm,” Taekwoon said. “Okay.”

“Why would it not be a date?” Wonshik asked him, confused.

“Never mind,” Taekwoon said vaguely before exiting. “Wonshikkie, fighting.”

 

 

Wonshik knocked on Hongbin’s door precisely at six; he arrived at five-fifty-seven and waited with his phone in his hand for the clock to change. Hongbin answered fairly quickly, and Wonshik had to quickly smother a flutter of delighted butterflies. Hongbin was, as always, handsome as hell. A burgundy sweater with a generous v-neck was more than fancy enough to please Wonshik. Hongbin seemed... slightly off, still anxious, but not avoiding the situation. Wonshik wasn’t really sure what he could immediately do to soothe that anxiety, so he just bowed and gestured outside.

“Sir,” he said dramatically, “Your sidewalk awaits.”

Hongbin finally laughed, and Wonshik felt the tiniest bit better about the whole situation. They started walking in silence, partly because he wasn’t confident in his overall ability to read Hongbin recently, and partly because Hongbin didn’t seem prepared to have a conversation. Fortunately, Wonshik had a lot of experience talking to anxious, poor conversationalists. Well, one of them.

“It’s pretty nice tonight,” he commented. “It’s probably going to rain tomorrow though. Not pour, just drizzle I think.”

“Hm.”

“This burger place is really great,” Wonshik said. “I can’t remember who showed it to me, but it’s kind of hidden so it’s never that crowded. We can get a table right away.”

“...You look nice,” Hongbin said very, very quietly. Wonshik almost tripped.

“T-thanks,” he mumbled. “Still can’t hold a tee to you though.”

“What... what does that have to do with anything?” Hongbin asked, seeming legitimately confused. This, in turn, confused Wonshik.

“...Should I stop complimenting you?” he asked seriously. “I will if you want me to, I just—meant it.”

“...Don’t put yourself down by complimenting me,” Hongbin said. “You sell yourself too short.”

“I’m not saying I look like shit,” Wonshik replied, a touch defensive. “I’m doing pretty good right now. I just understand, objectively, you look better than me.”

“I don’t!” Hongbin protested. “You look—cool. Like you know what you’re doing. I look like a nerd who did laundry.” He seemed extremely self-conscious, suddenly, and Wonshik wasn’t completely sure whether or not to address it—he decided against it, for today. Instead, he scoffed, held out his sleeve, and gestured.

“Feel this.”

Hongbin hesitantly touched his sleeve.

“No, I mean like. Really feel it. Do you know what this is made of?”

“Cotton?”

“Boyfriend material,” Wonshik smirked, 100% committed to the worst joke in his life. It was terrible, stupid, _ridiculous_ \--and Hongbin was laughing. He laughed so hard he smacked Wonshik on the arm and stumbled into him. Wonshik laughed too, his heart fizzing his chest.

“That was _the worst thing_ you have _ever said_ ,” Hongbin gasped.

“Probably,” Wonshik agreed. “But it was totally worth it.”

“ _Why?!_ ” Hongbin choked. “You sounded like an _idiot._ ”

“You’re laughing,” Wonshik pointed out.

“I’m not laughing,” Hongbin answered. “I’m _dying._ ”

“Good news,” Wonshik said, “I know how to bring you back to life. We’re here.” He gestured broadly at the neon sign above the door.

He’d spent a lot of time on this particular joke, for this particular person, and he sincerely hoped it worked.

I-5 THRU PHOENIX the sign declared, as well as printed on every paper napkin, every sign board, and every menu.

“Look!” Wonshik said, holding his arms out wide and gleeful. “It’s a Phoenix Down!”

Hongbin stared at him. He looked—happy, for the first time since their night playing games. He looked like he was glad Wonshik was there. He looked like, maybe, somehow, Wonshik had managed to win if not his entire heart, maybe just a piece.

He looked at Wonshik the way Wonshik didn’t entirely know he looked at Hongbin.

“I lied,” Hongbin said, grinning. “ _That_ was the worst thing you’ve ever said.”

“You’re welcome,” Wonshik said, holding the door open for him. “Let’s get inside, I’m starving.”

The staff seated them towards the back, in a corner with a table just big enough for two and (in Wonshik’s head) romantic low-lighting. Hongbin propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand as he perused the menu; It gave Wonshik plenty of time to just stare at Hongbin. He remembered the laughter; it felt like it was still ringing in his ears. Being able to have that effect on anyone was great, but being able to entertain Hongbin was the best.

“Wow, some of these are kind of pricey,” Hongbin said quietly with a wince. Wonshik frowned at him.

“Get whatever you want, it’s on me.”

“What? No, don’t—”

“I’m the one who said we should go here,” Wonshik pointed out. “I’ve got it.” Hongbin looked ready to protest more, but Wonshik turned his attention to the menu too, trying to settle on something. He glanced up, about to ask Hongbin what he was getting, but he made full eye contact because... Hongbin was staring at him again. Not in surprise, but just... looking. When he realized he’d been caught, he blushed.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “You...”

“I?” Wonshik prompted as he trailed off. Hongbin licked his lips, and Wonshik was temporarily distracted.

“You—you look really good like this,” Hongbin mumbled, blushing more. “I mean, you—it suits you.”

“I clean up pretty good,” Wonshik said with a grin.

“Yeah,” Hongbin agreed. “You do.”

Wonshik really, _really_ wanted to lean across the small table and kiss him. 

But he didn’t. He was holding out for a goodnight kiss later.

“So what are you getting?”

 

 

When the burgers arrived, Wonshik felt like he hadn’t eaten in years. It was a good thing he was so hungry, because they were _massive_ , even bigger and fresher than he remembered. In their little paper pouches, they looked bigger than he could hold with two hands. He knew from past experience he could make it work, but—

“Wow, these smell incredible,” Hongbin said. Wordlessly, Wonshik reached out and pulled his plate over; carefully, so he didn’t crush everything, Wonshik cut the burger in half before pushing the plate back. He didn’t even think about; Hongbin had small hands, and these were huge burgers.

Hongbin looked at his plate and blushed.

“They taste better than they smell,” Wonshik assured him, maneuvering his own massive burger into place and taking a sizable bite. They were exactly as good as he remembered. He slumped back in his chair, the bliss of good food taking over his body. Then his foot bumped into Hongbin’s. He had two immediate thoughts:

_I should move my foot._

_I should keep it there and see what happens._

Emboldened by the fact that Hongbin didn’t seem to have noticed, he went with the latter. He watched Hongbin chewing much more politely (although still with enthusiasm) and couldn’t quite keep in the smile that just lived on his face when he was with Hongbin. Hongbin’s eyes were closed; it was a damn good burger.

“See,” Wonshik said smugly. “Told you they were good.” Hongbin just nodded, still caught up in food heaven; he had a smudge of ketchup on the corner of his mouth, and without thinking, Wonshik grabbed his paper napkin and leaned forward, wiping it off gently. Hongbin’s eyes had snapped open the moment he felt the touch.

“Sorry,” Wonshik murmured. “You had ketchup.” He held up the napkin as evidence. Hongbin blushed _again_ ; Wonshik had butterflies in his stomach from the start, but the longer the date went on, the more he was convinced he had this one in the bag.

“Thanks,” Hongbin said quietly. He went back to eating, albeit with a bit more care than before. Wonshik also fell into silence as he ate his own meal. Then, he felt it.

Hongbin’s foot was brushing against his ankle. He kept his eyes on his plate, but the gentle nudging continued, and Wonshik was so charmed by this extremely hesitant, shy game of footsie he just beamed. Hongbin was going with it. Hongbin was feeling it too. Hongbin maybe, at least just a little, _liked him._

He felt warm from head to toe, in particular his heart.

 

The rest of the meal went pretty well, in Wonshik’s mind. The footsie came and went, and sometimes he returned it with a very small reaction. They chatted about various things; Hongbin’s classes, Wonshik’s classes, the play, their families, what kind of music they’d been listening to recently—all of it felt comfortable and friendly. Whatever anxiety Hongbin had started off with was gone by the time they’d finished their food, and Wonshik snatched the bill out of reach before Hongbin could try and snag it.

“Don’t,” Hongbin protested. “Let me pay.”

“Nope,” Wonshik said. “I invited you. That’s how it works.” Hongbin sighed, but seemed to accept it. As they left, he shivered slightly.

“Wow, it got cold really fast,” he commented, rubbing his arms vigorously. Wonshik didn’t have a jacket to give him this time, so instead he stepped close and slung his arm over Hongbin’s shoulders. Maybe it was the smiles over dinner, or the feeling of Hongbin’s foot on his ankle, or how soft his sweater looked; whatever the reason, the gesture felt comfortable. Hongbin didn’t say a word, but he did move ever so slightly closer under Wonshik’s arm, towards his warmth. As they walked in an easy silence, Wonshik felt so light he could barely believe he wasn’t floating.

All he could think about was how much of his heart was filled up by the boy under his arm, and how utterly _happy_ he was.

“Wonshik,” Hongbin said, breaking the silence.

“Hm?”

“I—I don’t want to go home yet,” he said quietly. Wonshik felt his heart gallop; he wasn’t sure what that meant, except that this wonderful thing would continue for a little bit longer.

“Okay,” he said. “We... we could go back to my place, but Taekwoon-hyung is probably there being sad.”

“Why is he sad?” Hongbin asked curiously.

“Because he has, in the greatest plot twist of all time, apparently fallen for Hakyeon,” Wonshik said with a sigh. “It doesn’t seem like Hakyeon feels the same way, so he’s kind of down about it.”

“Hakyeon likes him, though,” Hongbin said as if this was well-known information.

“He does?” Wonshik asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Hongbin said. “I mean—he didn’t mention Takewoon-hyung by name, but he definitely meant him.”

“Huh,” Wonshik said. “Well, maybe there’s some hope for them after all.”

“So... where should we go?” Hongbin said, leaning into Wonshik a little bit more. It seemed almost unconscious, like Wonshik was just naturally drawing him in. Hongbin’s sweater was soft under his hand.

“We could hang out at the studio for a while,” Wonshik suggested. “Nobody will be there.”

“That sounds good,” Hongbin said, ducking his head. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“Okay,” Wonshik said immediately. Whatever it was, he wanted to hear it with all his heart.

 

 

Wonshik probably should have noticed something was off when he realized the lights were on. He was expecting it to be empty, but when they pushed open the door, it was anything but.

Instead, Taekwoon and Hakyeon were hardcore making out; Wonshik hadn’t even realized how seriously Taekwoon had been when he talked about liking Hakyeon until Wonshik saw him with his hand up the back of Hakyeon’s shirt, and Hakyeon with his arms around Taekwoon’s neck like it was the only reason he was still standing.

“Oh, shit,” he said, feeling like he’d disrupted something extremely important. Taekwoon broke out of whatever make-out-reverie he’d been, turned Hakyeon around, and literally ducked down to hide behind him, face redder than Wonshik had thought was even possible.

“Uh,” Wonshik said, “This is... awkward.” Hongbin was standing just behind him, looking more than a little pleased with himself. Taekwoon made a pained noise from his hiding place and Hakyeon, red and flustered, smiled.

“Wonshik, Hongbin!” he said with a cheerful smile. “How was your date?”

“Great,” Wonshik said with a grin.

“It wasn’t a date!” Hongbin protested at exactly the same moment. The two looked at each other in surprise.

“It wasn’t?” Wonshik said quietly, his face falling. “Oh.”

Everything, every second of the past three-odd hours had been in his head. Every comment was just friendly. Every smile, laugh, touch—none of it was real. None of it meant more. Wonshik felt himself absolutely crumbling to pieces on the inside. It wasn’t fair. He liked Hongbin so much, and he’d tried so hard, but—it hadn’t meant anything special to Hongbin. _He_ didn’t mean anything special to Hongbin.

He was just a loser, who never should have thought anything would be possible between them anyway.

“No, it was—I mean—” Hongbin stammered, reaching out to grab Wonshik’s elbow. He felt ice down his spine. “I didn’t think you were...”

“Hongbinnie,” Hakyeon scolded mildly. “I think you should be honest with Wonshik, don’t you?” Hongbin shot him a glare that would melt glass.

“Sorry,” Wonshik said with a noticeably forced smile. “I guess it was just a little wishful thinking.” How had he been so wrong? How had he misread so much, misinterpreted so many things, until he got to the point of outright delusion? 

Why?

“Wishful thinking?” Hongbin parroted.

“Forget it,” Wonshik continued, desperately trying to push the heartbreak out of his voice. “Really, just. Never mind, okay?” Maybe they could still be friends. Maybe Wonshik could still see him sometimes. Maybe someday it wouldn’t feel like a knife in his gut.

“You wanted it to be a date?” Hongbin asked, seemingly in disbelief. “Really?”

“I said forget it,” Wonshik said. Stupid. So _stupid._

“But you wanted—”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Wonshik interrupted, voice cracking. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stand this. It _hurt_ so fucking much. “I’m dumb, you’re out of my league, so—”

“Out of your _league_?” Hongbin said. 

“Well, yeah,” Wonshik said. “You’re—”

“Handsome,” Hongbin filled in with extreme bitterness.

“Fun,” Wonshik corrected. “I mean, you’re also hot, but fun.” The most fun he’d had in... a really long time. But that was over now.

Hongbin was gaping at Wonshik. He was probably thinking about how stupid Wonshik was. All that hiding from him, anxiety—no wonder. Wonshik couldn’t take a hint; he just kept going like everything was—was something he wanted, selfishly. He couldn’t look at Hongbin. He couldn’t look anywhere, because everything in the room reminded him of Hongbin now.

He had no idea how he was going to get over this.

“I like you,” Hongbin spit out abruptly. “A lot.” Wonshik stared at him. The blush, the one he thought was so cute before, and then felt so bad about, was back. Hongbin’s grip on his elbow tightened, like he thought Wonshik was going to run away.

“Oh,” Wonshik said. He felt like the he was seeing dawn for the first time; the warmth, the light, the wave of wonder that rolled over him filled the fractures completely. “ _Oh._ ” He still wanted to cry, but he wasn’t sure whether it was sadness or happiness anymore. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore, except that Hongbin was standing there, looking at him with an expression of deep affection and Wonshik didn’t think he was imagining it, this time.

“Please don’t kiss,” Taekwoon said, peeking over Hakyeon’s shoulder. “I really don’t want to see it.”

“Yeah, it’s _super gross_ to see your friends kissing,” Hongbin shot back at Taekwoon pointedly. “Disturbing, even.”

“Haunts you,” Wonshik added, feeling light. “Every time you close your eyes, it’s _there_.”

“Ugh,” Hongbin added for emphasis.

Wonshik couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t bounce from happiness to agony to unrestrained joy over the course of a handful of moments without needing something, _anything_ to feel real. He couldn’t wait for Hongbin to change his mind again and walk away; he couldn’t risk anymore confusion over his intentions and feelings.

So he turned around, slid one hand up Hongbin’s beautiful jaw to cup around the back of his head and kissed him.

For one heart-stopping moment, Hongbin was utterly frozen. Then he moved, kissing back, smiling into it, grabbing the front of Wonshik’s shirt and pulling him closer, so close Wonshik put his other hand on the small of Hongbin’s back and just kept kissing. He never wanted to stop. 

He didn’t notice Hakyeon and Taekwoon leaving. He didn’t notice anything except Hongbin.

Hongbin pulled back, just a bit, and Wonshik couldn’t quite keep himself from kissing Hongbin’s cheek, then jaw, then neck—Hongbin tugged on his shirt again.

“Wait,” he said with a gasp. “Wait, hang on.”

Wonshik stopped. He didn’t want to, but he did. 

“I...” Hongbin started, faltering. Wonshik dragged his thumb softly across Hongbin’s cheekbone. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“What?” Wonshik said, incredibly distracted.

“I’ve never—I don’t—” Hongbin made a sound of frustration. “This is the first time I’ve done anything ever and I don’t want to screw it up, so I... I need help.”

Slowly, the words filtered through Wonshik’s brain. Once they settled, he straightened and stared at Hongbin in sheer confusion.

“You’ve never kissed a guy before?” he said, baffled.

“I’ve never kissed _anyone_ ,” Hongbin clarified, “because I’m a loser nerd with no friends so—fuck, I didn’t even know we were on a date.”

“How is that possible?” Wonshik demanded, angry at the universe for denying this angel the love and adoration he deserved. “How has _nobody_ kissed you yet?!”

“Is—is that bad?” Hongbin asked quietly, actual concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not bad,” Wonshik said. “It pisses me off.”

“How is that... not... bad?”

“Because _somebody should have kissed you by now,_ ” Wonshik said. “People should have been kissing you constantly. You should have been able to kiss anybody you wanted.”

“I didn’t want to kiss anybody either,” Hongbin said. “Until... you.”

Wonshik hugged him. He wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to—everything, but right that second he just wanted to hug him close and count himself lucky to be someone Hongbin _wanted_ to kiss, and to be the _first_ person he wanted to kiss. He was special to Hongbin. Somehow.

“Can I kiss you more?” Wonshik asked. “To make up for it?”

“Yes,” Hongbin said. “Please do.”

He gladly obliged.

 

“Taekwoon-hyu—”

“No.”

“I just want to tal—”

“ _No,_ ” Taekwoon said, turning his back to Wonshik and jamming his fingers in his ears. “I _don’t want to talk about any of this._ ”

“I just wanted to—to say congrats,” Wonshik said. “You did it.”

“...I did what?”

“You went out of your comfort zone and you found someone that makes you happy,” Wonshik said. “Congrats.”

There was a long pause, and Wonshik turned around, assuming the conversation was over.

“Wonshik.”

He turned.

“You deserve him,” Taekwoon said. “He deserves you. You deserve each other.”

Wonshik smiled.

“Thanks, hyung. You too.”

“We’re done talking about this now,” Taekwoon announced, hunching down in his chair. “Goodbye.”

Wonshik just laughed.

 

“I don’t care,” Jaehwan said urgently, “I really don’t. I don’t care if anyone else notices.”

“You said you hated me, didn’t you?” Sanghyuk said. Jaehwan reached out to put his hands on either side of Sanghyuk’s face.

“It’s different now,” he said, soft. “I’m different now.” 

“So it’s alright?” Sanghyuk asked. He leaned in so their faces were inches apart and _purred_ , “It’s alright if I change you?”

And then they were kissing, on stage, during a performance, enthusiastically, and Wonshik had to cover his headset mic for a second because it was the _funniest damn thing he’d ever seen._ He knew Hakyeon was probably in the wings, unable to interrupt what was going on in any way. And then Sanghyuk was basically holding Jaehwan up.

“Congrats,” Wonshik said over the headset. “Your musical just got gay.”

He fucking _knew it._


	3. Babe ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaehwan has a reputation and Sanghyuk knows.

Literally everyone knew Lee Jaehwan.

It almost seemed like a joke, at first. Sanghyuk heard him mentioned at Freshmen Orientation, and then from every day forward, someone, somehow, would be talking about Lee Jaehwan. The accounts of him varied; some found him adorable, others obnoxious, still others breathtaking—the list went on.

It made meeting him a lot weirder.

Auditioning for the musical had seemed like something he could do for fun, make some friends, have a good time that term. He hadn’t realized how small the production was, how artsy the project was, and how the director was—the _playwright_ was—

He was a lot. Cha Hakyeon was a lot, and Sanghyuk was honestly surprised he hadn’t heard of Hakyeon the way everyone on planet Earth knew Jaehwan. Now, through the show, he also knew Jaehwan. 

Jaehwan was awful. Great, but also the worst. Amazing, but so maddening. He _was_ cute, and he _was_ obnoxious.

He was also breathtaking. 

Sanghyuk wasn’t entirely sure which aspects he preferred.

 

They went for coffee after the first reading. Hongbin had a highlighter he and Jaehwan were passing back and forth, making sure they’d marked their lines out properly.

“This would be so much easier if they had names,” Hongbin grumbled, running his finger down a page.

“Is Hakyeon-hyung a genius for this, or an idiot?” Sanghyuk asked. Jaehwan considered it, screwing up his face and tapping the end of the pen on his chin.

“I’m going to go with a little of both,” Jaehwan said. “I mean, theoretically, this is awesome, right?”

“Practically, it’s—"

“A hot mess,” Jaehwan chirped. “Fortunately, he cast me.”

Hongbin looked at him with narrowed, skeptical eyes, before turning to Sanghyuk.

“What do you think?” he asked. 

“I think he knows what he’s doing,” Sanghyuk said. “I’m not convinced what he’s doing is worth it.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Hongbin said with a heavy sigh. He grabbed his bag and smiled at them. “I’ve got class; I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” They waved him off; as soon as he was out of sight, Jaehwan leaned in conspiratorially.

“Look, here’s how this is going to play out,” he said. “He’s a good actor and he’s devastatingly handsome. We have to beat him.”

“Is this a competition?” Sanghyuk asked.

“Everything is a competition,” Jaehwan said with a grin. “So let’s win.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Sanghyuk said, tilting his head. Jaehwan reached across the table and grabbed both his hands, interlocking their fingers. Sanghyuk looked at their hands, then at Jaehwan. 

“You and I have the most lines together,” Jaehwan pointed out. “We’re going to be so good, nobody will even _remember_ the other two.”

“You have a lot of confidence.”

“In singing,” Jaehwan said firmly. “I’m unmatched on this campus. Jung Taekwoon is the only one to come close, and he doesn’t care enough to matter. Acting, however, is not so easy. That’s where you come in.”

“I’m not exactly a pro either,” Sanghyuk pointed out, but Jaehwan was already shaking his head.

“No,” he said. “You’re good. Together we’re unlimited. Together we’ll be the greatest team there’s ever been, _Glinda_ ,” Jaehwan said, then sang the last two sentences and looked at Sanghyuk expectantly. When he got no reaction except flat confusion, he pouted.

“It’s from a musical.”

“If it’s not a movie, I haven’t seen it,” Sanghyuk said with a shrug.

“My references are wasted on you,” Jaehwan said.

“Probably,” Sanghyuk said. “Hit me with some ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ some time, then we might get somewhere.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Jaehwan said, squeezing their linked hands as if that would somehow refocus the conversation, “We’re going to practice twice as much as anybody else. We’ll learn our lines first, memorize our blocking first, _everything._ We’ll have the most developed characters and it will be incredible.”

“So you can crush Hongbin. And Taekwoon?”

“So _we_ can crush _everyone._

Sanghyuk looked at Jaehwan, lifting one of their linked hands and crushing it with about half-strength. Jaehwan yelped and released him, shaking out his fingers and looking at his hands with alarm.

“I’m good at crushing,” Sanghyuk smiled at him.

Jaehwan was staring at him with a slightly different shade of interest than before. He was looking quite critically at Sanghyuk’s shoulders, then chest. In his free orientation hoodie, there wasn’t much to see. He then squinted at Sanghyuk’s face.

“You’re secretly super buff, aren’t you,” he accused.

“It’s not a secret,” Sanghyuk replied. “It’s just a contextual realization.” When Jaehwan continued to squint at him, he propped his chin on one hand. He wasn’t going to give any more details than that; there was a reason he wore oversized hoodies. It made the reveal so much more interesting.

“So you’re just going to leave it to my imagination?” Jaehwan said, picking up the highlighter again.

‘For now,’ Sanghyuk thought with a grin.

 

He wasn’t entirely sure how the news got out, but suddenly everyone he met seemed to know not only that he was in a musical, but also that it was a musical by Cha Hakyeon (who was much more well-known than he’d initially thought; turned out that Hakyeon was most known for dancing, which he was allegedly pretty good at) but that he was also in the same musical as Lee Jaehwan. Shortly after, news of Hongbin’s jaw and dimples seemed to spread from an unknown internal source that was almost definitely Kim Wonshik.

Sanghyuk had never been on the receiving end of so many bitter glares from strangers in his entire life, before and after he grew up to be hot (apparently.)

In English 202, he was assigned to a group for a group project—and his entire group went directly to the professor and demanded he be removed. His professor then tried to foist him off on two other groups, got exactly the same chilly rejection, and finally agreed to let Sanghyuk do his paper solo.

“Isn’t this only your second term here?” the professor asked him with a frown. “How did you alienate yourself from—everyone!?”

“I’m in a musical with Lee Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk said, taking a breath as he prepared to explain the situation to the best of his ability.

“Oh,” the professor said immediately. “Well, that would do it.”

“Wait, wait!” Sanghyuk said. “What do you mean?! Why does it matter!?”

“You’ve read the Iliad?”

“Yeah, three or four years ago.”

“As far as the student body is concerned, you are Paris, and you have just run off with Helen to Troy,” the professor said. “Don’t expect this to improve much until the play is over. Even then, maybe.”

Sanghyuk left the office, despondent. If he’d known simple proximity to Jaehwan would wreak this much havoc on his social life, he definitely would have reconsidered the whole thing. The guy that sat next to him in Political Science gave him a glare that could have potentially set him on _fire._

“Cut it out,” Sanghyuk said, throwing himself in his seat. “I didn’t know he was the darling of the fucking school.”

“He’s not,” the guy (maybe Sanghyuk would try and learn his name, if he stopped trying to murder him with his gaze). “He’s the best fuck in the fucking school. _And_ the darling.”

“Wait,” Sanghyuk said, “What?”

“He’s a total spazz, but he’s the best one-night-stand you’ll have in undergrad. Possibly in grad school too,” Guy said. 

“Are you speaking from personal experience?”

“I crashed a choir group party last year,” Guy began in a tone that was borderline reverent. “I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I _dream_ about him.”

“He’s cute?” Sanghyuk offered hesitantly. 

“Well, yeah, 75% of the time. The rest... he’s...” Guy trailed off, lost in the memories of a quick bathroom bang, Sanghyuk assumed.

“Interesting,” Sanghyuk said. “Very interesting.”

 

Jaehwan was holding up his phone, trying to get his angles right for a proper selfie, when Sanghyuk leaned over his shoulder to murmur in his ear.

“I heard about you,” he said, smiling.

“What can I say?” Jaehwan said with an exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes. “I’m too cute to forget.”

“That’s not exactly what I heard,” Sanghyuk continued. “Honestly, some of the things made my little freshman face blush.”

“There are perhaps several reasons why I’m hard to forget,” Jaehwan amended neatly. “I can probably make you a list, if you want.”

“I have a better idea,” Sanghyuk said, his smile taking on a sharper edge. “How about you show me?”

Jaehwan put down his phone.

“Are you coming on to me?” he asked.

“Nah,” Sanghyuk breathed against his ear. “I’d rather see you swallow.” Jaehwan did, in fact, swallow in that moment; Sanghyuk saw his Adam’s apple bob, and he wet his lips with his tongue. Maybe he was picturing what Sanghyuk was; maybe he was picturing things Sanghyuk hadn’t thought of.

Yet.

“Give me your phone.”

“Why?” Jaehwan asked, thrown.

“So I can see how many levels of Candy Crush you’ve beaten,” he said sarcastically. He held out his hand, waiting. “To put my number in, obviously.”

“I’m not into Candy Crush,” Jaehwan sniffed at him, handing the phone over. “I’m a Pokemon Gym Leader.”

“I bet you’d like it if I called you ‘senpai’,” Sanghyuk commented as he tapped his number in, calling himself to save Jaehwan’s.

“Excuse you,” Jaehwan said as Sanghyuk gave it back. “Obviously you should call me ‘master’.”

“Of what?” Sanghyuk asked dryly. “Your balls?”

“What’s your deal?” Jaehwan asked him, putting his phone face-down. “You’re not like the other freshmen, are you?”

“What are the other freshmen like?”

“Innocent,” Jaehwan said with a sigh. “Not terribly imaginative, really. It takes a few years for creativity to bloom.”

“Are we still talking about your balls?” Sanghyuk asked him. For half a second, Jaehwan was staring at him with wide, surprised eyes; then they crinkled up and he burst into delighted laughter. He reached out to playfully punch Sanghyuk in the arm, but his fist met unexpectedly solid muscle. 

“Oh,” Jaehwan said quietly, laughter gone. Carefully, he punched again. Still no give. A pat turned slightly into a caress, which in turn was rapidly heading towards the category of groping. He looked Sanghyuk in the face, mouth slack.

“Are you—wait, seriously?” he asked, dropping into a near whisper.

“Am I what?”

“ _Absolutely ripped,_ ” Jaehwan hissed excitedly. “But _secretly._ ”

“I’m not ripped,” Sanghyuk said quickly. He wasn’t; he was toned as shit and he worked pretty hard, but when he thought of ripped, he pictured steroid-boosted Instagram models. 

“But you’re _solid,_ ” Jaehwan insisted. “I might as well have punched a tree.”

“I’m tall,” Sanghyuk said with a smile. “I have a lot in common with trees.”

Jaehwan stared at him again, before an extremely questionable smile bloomed on his face; he seemed very pleased with himself as he leaned in and loudly whispered, “Like _wood_?”

“Are you coming on to me?” Sanghyuk asked, putting a hand to his heart with a dramatic gasp. 

“Do you want me to be?” Jaehwan asked with a mega-watt smile. Sanghyuk made a show of deeply considering the question, prompting Jaehwan to add, “What, do you think you can’t handle me?”

“I can handle you,” Sanghyuk said definitively. “I just might have to gag you.”

Jaehwan laughed, but something seemed… odd.

“Well, what’s your hesitation then?” he asked.

“I don’t think my social life could handle another hit,” he said truthfully, crossing his arms on the table to rest his head on. “Nobody talks to me anymore. They won’t hang out with me. They won’t even look at me, all because of you.”

“Wait, what?” Jaehwan asked, putting a hand on Sanhyuk’s elbow. “What are you talking about?”

Did he not _know_?!

“Jaehwannie,” Sanhyuk said patiently, disregarding the fact that he was being rude, “Everyone on this campus wants you, and as far as they’re concerned, _I have you._ ”

“But you don’t,” Jaehwan pointed out. Sanghyuk nodded at him.

“I noticed. Nobody else has, though.”

“You’re a dummy.”

Sanghyuk sat up, and gave Jaehwan what started as a very serious, very dangerous expression. But then Jaehwan pulled a stupid face—and it was _very_ stupid—and Sanghyuk felt his anger crumble away. He put his head down again.

“Please,” he said, waving a hand. “Explain.”

“Everyone thinks you’re banging me, right?” Jaehwan said. Sanghyuk nodded. “So you have two options: attempt to correct the entire student body, _or_ , we could actually be banging.”

“You want me to fix my social life by fucking you?”

“I didn’t say it would fix anything,” Jaehwan replied. “I’m just saying, those are your choices here.”

Sanghyuk looked at Jaehwan very closely and carefully; was he just playing around, or was this a serious proposition? It was so hard to tell with him. He looked back at Sanghyuk with an expression that seemed light-hearted and bold, but there was a dart of nervousness that was difficult to pin down.

“Well, when you put it like that, I guess the choice is pretty obvious,” he said with a shrug. “Your place or mine?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Unless you’re not, in which case that’s cool too, sorry for the confusion,” Sanghyuk said. 

“Are you even going to _try_ to seduce me?” Jaehwan asked, making finger motions that probably were intended to be alluring, but instead came off as ‘spooky hands.’ It was a stupid question, and Sanghyuk wasn’t even sure why he was entertaining the thought at all; it’s not like he was on a quest to determine the validity of literally every rumor surrounding Jaehwan.

However, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested.

“Let’s make a deal,” Sanghyuk said. “I will try to seduce you. You try to resist. By the end of the show, a winner will have been established.”

“That sounds... fun,” Jaehwan said, looking surprisingly entertained by the idea. 

“I’m assuming you usually get the ball rolling,” Sanghyuk said. Jaehwan shrugged.

“Us millennials,” he said, “We’re just _obsessed_ with instant gratification.”

“Nothing about what I plan to do is instant,” Sanghyuk informed him with a predatory smile. “It will sure as hell be gratifying though.”

“I look forward to your attempt at conquest,” Jaehwan said, primly extending a hand to shake. Sanghyuk took it; they made their deal. He briefly wondered if he would come to regret it.

Probably.

 

“How many times did you read it?” Jaehwan asked the next day when Sanghyuk pulled out a chair next to him in the study room they’d reserved in the library. He didn’t even wait for his ass to hit the seat.

“Twice?” Sanghyuk said. He set a coffee cup on the table in front of Jaehwan before pulling out his own. “I was busy.”

“Busy?” Jaehwan said, offended. He wrapped his hands around the warm cup, taking a small sip; he smiled when the hot chocolate hit his tongue. “Doing what?”

“Doing homework?” Sanghyuk said defensively. “Eating? Bathing? Being a human being?”

“I read it six times,” Jaehwan informed him. “ _Six._ ”

Sanghyuk looked at him skeptically as he pulled his script out of his bag. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Jaehwan, he just suspected there was something misleading about that statement.

“Were they all this morning?” he asked. “Or right before I got here?”

“...How did you know that?” Jaehwan asked, slouching into his chair, pouting into his drink.

“I had a hunch,” Sanghyuk said. “Anyway, let’s read this, yeah?”

“It’s so—”

“Gay?”

“ _Really_ gay. Even if these characters were not all men, it would still be _really_ gay, right?”

“Yeah,” Sanghyuk said with a sigh, taking a sip of his coffee. “I think the playwright put more than a little of himself in here.”

“You think Hakyeon is gay?” Jaehwan asked, surprised.

“You think he’s not?” Sanghyuk asked with equal surprise.

“...That would explain a lot about this,” Jaehwan admitted, gesturing at the script.

“Also every time he looks at Taekwoon-hyung, hearts shoot out of his eyes,” Sanghyuk added. “He’s not even trying to be subtle.”

“I think he’s probably going to be disappointed in the end on that one,” Jaehwan huffed. “Jung Taekwoon doesn’t date. He doesn’t socialize in general, really.”

“You know him?”

“As much as anyone can, I guess,” Jaehwan said. “He was in the choir with me until pretty recently. He’s _very_ shy, it’s kind of amazing he can function.”

“He seems cool with Wonshik, though,” Sanghyuk pointed out. 

“Everyone is cool with Wonshik,” Jaehwan said. “He’s just one of those guys that is passively friends with the universe.”

“And you are the active crush of the universe.”

“It’s not like I’m trying,” Jaehwan said. He made a face that he clearly thought was cute, adding, “I can’t help being adorable.”

“You also have a cute butt,” Sanghyuk commented mildly. “Probably contributes.”

“Is that your first attempt at seduction?” Jaehwan asked, batting his eyelashes.

“Nope,” Sanghyuk said, nodding at the cup in Jaehwan’s hands. “That was.”

“Oh,” Jaehwan said, looking at the now half-empty hot chocolate. 

“Is it working?” Sanghyuk asked, smiling and a touch smug.

“I’m not having sex with you over it,” Jaehwan said, but he looked tempted.

“Yet,” Sanghyuk beamed at him. Jaehwan made a show of huffing about it like he was offended, but he didn’t deny it, and Sanghyuk updated his mental score: Sanghyuk, 1; Jaehwan’s pants, 0. 

He liked a slow burn.

 

Sanghyuk didn’t really understand why Jaehwan seemed so dismissive of his reputation until he saw the consequences first hand. They’d been planning to meet at the library again, but Jaehwan was mysteriously late; he was habitually late, but up until now he’d at least had the decency to text Sanghyuk with a general ETA, and it was never more than fifteen minutes. Sanghyuk had taken to showing up ten minutes late himself, adjusting to Jaehwan’s inability to be timely.

But as the twenty-minute mark passed without so much as an emoji, Sanghyuk couldn’t _quite_ shake the feeling that something was wrong. He left the library, unsure of exactly where he should be going, but headed towards the dining hall. Lunch was not that long ago, and Jaehwan ate like a man starved every single meal.

He came across them when he rounded the science building corner. Some guy had Jaehwan backed against a wall; Sanghyuk’s first thought was that this was a romantic thing, but a glance at Jaehwan’s face gave the opposite impression. He looked furious at the guy blocking him in.

“Come on,” the stranger said, “You blew your way through the entire department, why not me?”

“I did not,” Jaehwan said quietly, ice cold. “I will not.”

“Oh, so _now_ you have fucking standards?” the guy demanded, slamming a hand against the wall next to Jaehwan’s head.

“Get the fuck out of my space,” Jaehwan said, and Sanghyuk had absolutely no doubt that this was going to end with Jaehwan punching someone (rightfully) in the face and fuck up his pretty hand.

Sanghyuk quite liked his pretty hands.

He crossed the space in three strides, grabbed the stranger by his shirt collar and _yanked_ , pulling him off balance. A kick to the ankle sent him to the ground with a yelp. Jaehwan was staring at Sanghyuk in surprise, but Sanghyuk wasn’t paying much attention to him; he was more concerned with the asshole getting back on his feet.

“Listen motherfucker, you—”

“Get lost,” Sanghyuk said with a dismissive wave. The stranger had the audacity to try and shove Sanghyuk in the chest, despite being a head shorter and definitely a few kilos lighter. It was like trying to push a brick wall.

“He told you to fuck off,” Sanghyuk said in an even, neutral tone. He was annoyed, but not quite angry yet.

“Did he fuck you too?” the stranger demanded, and Sanghyuk’s tolerance for bullshit evaporated. He grabbed the guy by his shirt front and heaved him up on his toes so he was looking Sanghyuk dead in the eye.

“My friend here told you to fuck off, so fuck off before I _break your face_ ,” Sanghyuk told him. He had never had to break someone’s face before, but when he threatened to do so, people tended to believe him. Sure enough, as soon as he was released, the creep ran.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jaehwan said. “I could have handled it.”

“I know,” Sanghyuk said, “But you’re already late and I have stuff to do after this.”

There was a moment of silence where Sanghyuk wasn’t looking at him, but he could feel Jaehwan staring at him intensely.

“I didn’t, by the way,” Jaehwan said quietly. Sanghyuk turned to him in confusion.

“Didn’t what?”

“Sleep with the entire department.”

“Okay,” Sanghyuk said, not entirely sure why it mattered.

“Everyone—everyone says I did, but I didn’t,” Jaehwan insisted as if it was something he desperately wanted Sanghyuk to believe. “I kind of dated two of them—separately—and they got mad after we broke up and spread this rumor and—and it’s still going, almost three years later, because they just keep refreshing it over and over.”

Sanghyuk felt a stab of guilt, having believed it (to a degree) himself.

“Do people bother you over this a lot?” he asked instead of apologizing. Jaehwan suddenly looked very tired, and more than a little sad.

“About once a week,” he admitted. “Used to be more. It spikes after every orientation.”

Sanghyuk couldn’t quite restrain himself from putting a comforting hand on Jaehwan’s back. 

“Just text me next time,” Sanghyuk said. “Otherwise I have to get my stuff and come find you. Worst scavenger hunt ever.”

Jaehwan smiled at him, and Sanghyuk pretended it didn’t make his heart do a funny little flip in his chest.

 

“Mr. Director,” Jaehwan said, raising a hand. “I have a request!”

“Jaehwannie,” Hakyeon answered seriously, nodding.

“Can I read this... cuter?”

“What?” Hakyeon said, blinking at him.

“Cuter,” Jaehwan repeated as if that would clarify it somehow. Hakyeon gestured to him to try.

The line, as written, was fairly neutral: “You made me wait; I hate waiting.” At first, Jaehwan had read it in an annoyed tone, but his alteration was borderline flirtatious. He even pouted at the end. 

“I know,” Sanghyuk replied, reading his following line in a considerably more playful tone, smirking. They’d been playing with this kind of read for a few days on their own; the dynamic between their characters was quite developed, and they were hoping to win Hakyeon over with it.

“Now you’re getting it,” Hakyeon said with a delighted clap. “I want you to do this. Take the lines and make them yours. Try things. Imply things.”

“Imply things?” Hongbin asked.

“Can I imply that Taekwoon-hyung murdered someone once?” Sanghyuk asked innocently. It wasn’t that he necessarily though Taekwoon was evil—he just liked harassing him.

“I mean,” Hakyeon said, “You can try, I guess.”

“Noted,” Sanghyuk said smugly. Taekwoon huffed a dramatic sigh, as if he was being treated with great injustice. Wonshik barely smothered a laugh. Hakyeon waved at them to keep going, his eyes scanning the page for places where they might make changes.

“I can’t stand you, sometimes,” Jaehwan read with disingenuous sniff.

“I know that too,” Sanghyuk replied, still smug. “I don’t mind you, myself.”

“Why not?” Jaehwan said, but compared to his previous read of a flat question, he sounded curious—and ever so slightly insecure, a touch soft. It was a hand-and-a-half softer than he’d read it before, and for just a moment, Sanghyuk felt his heart squeeze.

“You’re not as bad as you wish you were,” Sanghyuk answered, putting a matching softness in his voice. 

“What makes you think you know me that well?” Jaehwan asked.

“I see you,” Sanghyuk said, “I’ve always seen you.”

There was a pause as the room collectively held their breath.

“You’d be the first,” Jaehwan said softly, making eye contact with Sanghyuk. It was a tender line delivery, and once he’d said it, something quiet and unspoken seemed to be hanging between them. It felt like a kiss, but words, which was both extremely confusing, but also perfect.

Then after quickly glancing at their scripts, they all looked back at Hakyeon. The script had a clear notation for a musical number, none of which they had heard before.

“Sing it,” Taekwoon said quietly. Everyone looked at him, then back at Hakyeon expectantly. Hakyeon huffed for a moment before apparently giving in.

“This isn’t all of it,” Hakyeon explained pre-emptively, “just a few verses. You’ll get the rest later.” Then, he took a deep breath and sang.

_If you asked me what I look like, I couldn’t tell you_  
_I haven’t seen my face with my own eyes_  
_And no matter how I asked, how I cried,_  
_My mother held me in silence._

_You can tell me, if I’m glass._  
_You can tell me, if I’m nothing._  
_You can tell me, if I’m just standing in a shadow that reaches on and on._

_But if you see me,_  
_If you know my face, my shape, my heart,_  
_Then maybe I can still be someone worth your gaze_

When he finished, he looked at Taekwoon; he was smiling, and nodded his head once at Hakyeon, approving. Everyone else besides Wonshik was in various states of confusion; Sanghyuk was quietly impressed, Hongbin had very wide, nervous eyes, and Jaehwan looked surprised and a touch pissed off.

“Okay, so you can sing,” he said. “Great.”

“Could you always do that?” Hongbin asked. “Did you learn?” Hakyeon smiled at him.

“I practiced. A lot, actually.”

“A lot, a lot,” added Wonshik. Sanghyuk had no trouble believing it; Hakyeon was easily the type to overdo it on preparing for absolutely everything to the fullest extent of his ability.

“Does everyone understand why that song is there?” Hakyeon asked pointedly. “What happened?”

“One and Three...” Jaehwan started, but the sentence trailed off. Sanghyuk wondered if he was turning it over in his mind the same way he was. Hongbin was nodding his head quite firmly, so Hakyeon gestured for him to pick up from there.

“One and Three developed a relationship,” Hongbin said. “Neither of them have identities, but by developing a relationship, identities formed around it.”

“The song is One acknowledging that they don’t know who they are, but that the relationship between them is important anyway,” Sanghyuk added. “It’s something they’ve been waiting for, even.” They hadn’t discussed this during their readings, but Sanghyuk couldn’t ignore it once it was sitting there, in front of everyone, _obvious_.

“Nobody has a name because nobody... is anybody, are they?” Jaehwan said. “I mean. That’s super confusing but it also makes... some kind of sense.”

Hakyeon clapped his hands, grinning delightedly. 

“Wait, what do we mean by relationship?” Hongbin asked with a frown. “That sounded... I don’t know. Less than platonic when you did it just now. Is it a romantic relationship?” Sanghyuk shot a darting glance at him.

“Do you want it to be?” Hakyeon posed to the two actors in question. 

“No,” said Jaehwan.

“Yes,” said Sanghyuk, at exactly the same time. They looked at each other, then quickly away. Sanghyuk wasn’t sure why Jaehwan would say no; this was their characters. It wasn’t _them_. Was he embarrassed, or nervous that kind of thing would feed the rumors he was fighting with?

“So there you are,” Hakyeon said. “That’s conflict. One says no, Three says yes, and that’s something they have to negotiate. Who and what they are, together and apart, in whatever form that takes.”

“I have a headache,” Taekwoon announced.

“Shush,” Hakyeon admonished him. “This is important.”

“So how do we... do that?” Sanghyuk asked cautiously. He wasn’t totally sold on this negotiation thing; negotiation sounded cold and bureaucratic. He liked a more casual ‘work it out’ kind of thing. 

“Through the text. There is conflict written in, it’s just not defined. You make it through implication.”

“This is such an art piece,” Jaehwan said, putting his head in his hands. “Why do I keep doing these?”

“Maybe you’re just a masochist,” Sanghyuk suggested. Jaehwan turned bright red and refused to look at him; Sanghyuk felt another stab of guilt, assuming he’d hit a sore spot again without meaning to. This time, he did want to apologize, but he was painfully aware of the other people around them and how Jaehwan almost definitely didn’t want to explain any it. Sanghyuk made a silent mental note: be more careful.

Hakyeon looked at the ceiling like it had the answers of the universe.

“Hyung,” Wonshik said, nudging him with an elbow. “Should we keep going?”

“Yes,” Hakyeon said after collecting himself. “Let’s keep going.”

 

Jaehwan lived off campus. He told people it was because he was a junior and liked his space, but Sanghyuk suspected it had more to do with avoiding people who wanted to bother him. It was a pretty small apartment, but absolutely covered with photographs of his family, his friends, singing competitions, posters from musicals he’d been in, posters of musicals he’d seen, posters of One Piece—there was barely any wall space left. He’d stuffed the main room with bean bag chairs, throw pillows, and blankets.

“Do you sleep out here?” Sanghyuk asked after handing over his gift of a bag of fun size Snickers, lifting a very soft blanket off a chair.

“Not on purpose,” Jaehwan said, holding the bag to his chest reverently. “Sometimes I just fall asleep. I wake up later and go to bed properly.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t fall asleep if you didn’t watch TV in a nest of comfort,” Sanghyuk suggested in what he considered to be a helpful tone. Jaehwan blew a raspberry at him.

“What kind of pizza do you want?” he asked, one hand already in the Snickers, browsing through options on the phone with the other.

“Get one without cheese, then whatever you want,” Sanghyuk said, clearing off a beanbag enough to settle in.

“No cheese?” Jaehwan asked, scandalized. “Are you Satan?”

“Yes,” Sanghyuk said seriously. “I’m also lactose-intolerant.”

“That is the most tragic thing I have ever heard,” Jaehwan said, putting a hand on his heart and pretending to wipe dramatic tears from his eyes. “You have my deepest condolences.” Sanghyuk rolled his eyes, but he knew he was grinning.

“Two mediums, one everything except olives, one Satanic,” Jaehwan said once he had collected himself.

“I think you should make yours a large,” Sanghyuk suggested. “I don’t want you finishing yours and coming for my Satanism.”

“A pizza without cheese is just flat tomato bread,” Jaehwan said with exaggerated disgust. “I would never touch it.”

“Come here,” Sanghyuk said. Jaehwan came over and, rather needlessly in Sanghyuk’s opinion, squeezed himself onto the same beanbag. It wasn’t that Sanghyuk _minded_ , it just seemed odd considering there were two other beanbags within three feet. 

“What?” Jaehwan asked, pressed against his side. Sanghyuk held out his phone with the sound recorder open.

“Repeat after me,” he said. “I, Lee Jaehwan, will not eat any Satanic pizza belonging to Satan, also known as Han Sanghyuk.”

“I, Lee Jaehwan, do not believe in Satan and therefore cannot be held to any promises regarding him or his pizza,” Jaehwan said seriously. “But I’ll do my darnedest!” He shot double finger guns at Sanghyuk.

“If you touch my pizza, I’ll murder you and hide your body!” Sanghyuk replied with equal cheer and returning the finger guns. He was rewarded with genuine laughter from Jaehwan, and quietly pleased with himself for being able to recognize the difference between his laughs now. They weren’t all fake, but there were more than he’d thought at the beginning.

Jaehwan pulled his knees up, leaning against Sanghyuk more heavily. His arm was getting kind of pinched, so he pulled it out and let it rest around Jaehwan’s shoulders. There was silence, but it didn’t feel awkward, just... comfortable. They should be running lines, or practicing the music they’d finally been given, but Sanghyuk kind of didn’t want to do either of those things right then.

“Have you ever really beat someone up?” Jaehwan asked abruptly. Sanghyuk blinked.

“Nah,” he said. “Never gets that far. I mean, I’ve thrown people when they were bugging me, but like. Gently thrown.”

“The gentle bodily throw,” Jaehwan said with a nod, “Of course.”

“Have you?”

“Thrown someone?”

“Beaten someone up.”

“I punched a few people, and I kicked a guy in the nuts for getting too handsy with a friend of mine,” he said. “I try not to risk my beautiful face.”

“Probably wise,” Sanghyuk said, smiling at him. “It would be a loss, for sure.”

“Would you really have punched that guy?”

“You were going to,” Sanghyuk said. “Seemed easier to scare him off.”

“It’s weird that anyone would find you scary,” Jaehwan said. “You’re not.”

“Not scary,” Sanghyuk said, his grin changing just enough to mean something else. “Intimidating.”

“How so?” Jaehwan asked, although Sanghyuk got the impression he already knew. One of the benefits of beanbag chairs was their general ambiguous shape; it made it easy for Sanghyuk to roll, putting a knee on the other side of Jaehwan’s legs and adjusting his hands to be on the chair on either side of his neck. Somehow, pinned beneath him, Jaehwan looked even better than he’d thought.

Jaehwan let his legs go loose, and Sanghyuk sank lower, letting his elbows hold him up instead of his hands. It was a slow movement, and Jaehwan had one hand resting on Sanghyuk’s waist. Eye contact sent a thrill down his spine, because Jaehwan’s pupils were blown wide and he was biting his lip in just the right way.

It felt so _real_.

Then the fucking doorbell rang with their pizza, and Sanghyuk threw himself to his feet and made for the door. Jaehwan stayed exactly where he was, but his hands were clenched together on his chest.

Somehow Sanghyuk had forgotten about the whole ‘seduction deal’ until right that moment.

They ate their pizza from separate beanbags, and when Jaehwan snagged a slice of his Satanic pizza, he didn’t even point it out.

 

 

“You’re wrong,” Hongbin said passionately from the furthest point down stage. “You’re wrong, I can do this.”

“Where does that confidence come from?” Taekwoon snapped back from behind. “What have you ever done?”

“I’ve _existed_ ,” Hongbin answered. “It’s been hard, but I’ve been here. I’ve been here so long.”

“Stop,” Hakyeon called from the first row of seats. He frowned at his blocking chart, tapping his pencil on his chin. “Hongbin, how would you feel about facing Taekwoon?”

“Scared,” Hongbin said immediately. Sanghyuk muttered ‘of _course_ ’; Jaehwan elbowed him, and got a neck chop for his trouble. Taekwoon was way scarier than Sanghyuk. Obviously.

“What if he was standing right next to you, facing out?”

“It could be interesting. It would less clear if I was talking to him, or the audience,” Hongbin said, nodding.

“Good. Let’s try that. Start from line six.”

“This is bad,” Jaehwan said with a huff. 

“Really?” Sanghyuk said, standing directly behind him and leaning against him just a bit. He pulled a handful of Rice Krispie Treats out of his pocket and pushed them into Jaehwan’s hand. “Looks better to me.”

“That’s what I mean,” Jaehwan said, pocketing most of the treats and keeping one to eat immediately. “It looks good. Which is bad. Remember?”

“Oh,” Sanghyuk realized. “We’re supposed to be better than them.”

“ _Exactly._ ”

“But they’re good.”

“Yes.”

“So... how do we do better than them?” Sanghyuk asked. “They’re both really good.”

“I hate to say this,” Jaehwan said, massaging his temple like it caused him actual physical pain, “But I think we need to practice more.”

“I see you _every day_ ,” Sanghyuk pointed out. Jaehwan pouted at him and he tried very hard not to crumble.

“I can’t teach you to dance and you can’t teach me to sing,” he said. “We need to work on our talents.”

“You really have no chill whatsoever, do you?” Sanghyuk asked in wonder.

“Dance, boy! Dance!” Jaehwan said, raising a hand imperiously. Maybe it was his voice, or the look on his face, or the fact that Jaehwan had the absolute _audacity_ to try and order him around, but Sanghyuk grabbed his wrists with both hands and pressed him back against the wall. For half a second, Jaehwan looked afraid—then he was biting his lip again.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Sanghyuk said, dropping his head to murmur in Jaehwan’s ear. “I do what I want.”

Something felt... wrong, and he let go and stepped back. Jaehwan was looking at him with that look that made Sanghyuk question who, exactly, was allegedly seducing who; objectively, Sanghyuk was making more of an effort, but Jaehwan kept pulling him in with eyes full of promise. He was temptation on legs and it was _frustrating._

“I’ll dance,” he said. “But not because you told me too.”

He turned and walked about without waiting to see what Jaehwan would do next.

 

Hakyeon really was _good_ at dancing. He’d focused on modern dance, but he clearly had a talent for it that carried over into different styles. For Sanghyuk, he’d modified the moves to be more powerful, with a smoothness to them that, he said, better suited the way he was reading his lines. It was a new style for Sanghyuk, and generally he felt good about it, but Hakyeon made it all look so _easy_.

“That was good,” Hakyeon said approvingly, “but I want you to lead from your chest a little more. Your shoulder line is better though.”

It was hard not to feel proud when Hakyeon praised him; Hakyeon wasn’t shy with praise, at all, and delivered it on a semi-constant basis, but it always sounded sincere. Coming from someone he respected (though he would never admit that out loud,) it actually made spending several hours in a rehearsal room kind of fun, instead of just tedious.

“Should I expand, or just pop though?” Sanghyuk asked, attempting both in front of the wall-to-wall mirror to demonstrate his question. Hakyeon stood next to him, considering.

“Show me the pop again,” he said. He started a few beats before, Sanghyuk following and then meeting, hitting the motion in question. “Now expand,” Hakyeon instructed. They went through the sequence again, but this time Sanghyuk inhaled, rolling his shoulders back rather than snapping.

“What do you think?” Hakyeon asked him. It never stopped surprising Sanghyuk that Hakyeon genuinely _cared_ about his opinion, and took it into account when making choreography decisions. It was the same genuine care he showed when he consulted Taekwoon, Jaehwan, and Wonshik on the music, or Hongbin on line delivery and blocking. He knew what they were good at and he used their resources effectively.

“I like the expand,” Sanghyuk said honestly. “It feels more... impactful, I guess?”

“Good,” Hakyeon said, nodding approvingly again, “I agree. Now, leading.”

It was hard work; dancing was always hard work, sweating and isolating parts of your body and making them follow the image in your mind, or the movements of the person next to you, all while listening and feeling the music and counting out the beats. Time tended to blow by, especially when you were really engrossed in it, and more than once Sanghyuk would look at the clock, see seven, then look a few minutes later, and see ten thirty. Today, they’d somehow made it to eleven thirty.

He was tired and sat down to catch his breath. Hakyeon was still moving, but his eyes were closed; it was one of those weird things he could do that never quite made sense. He managed to hit the spot correctly every time, every turn, even though he wasn’t looking. Sanghyuk would have thought he was showing off if it didn’t seem so... instinctive. Hakyeon wasn’t dancing for anyone but himself in those moments. Wonshik had mentioned off hand that until quite recently, Hakyeon was a dance major, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why.

Sanghyuk’s phone buzzed; he grabbed it and saw a series of messages.

_Jyani: So remember when you said text you_  
_Jyani: I’m texting you_

Sanghyuk’s heart stopped. He checked the time stamps; they were about twenty minutes ago. Then, less than ten.

_Jyani: nvm, I dealt with it_  
_Jyani: nvm nvm I think I made it worse_  
_Jyani: he’s following me?! What should I do?!_  
_Jyani: SANGHYUK PLEASE FIND ME_

The last time stamp was seven minutes ago. Sanghyuk had no idea what sort of mess Jaehwan had managed to get into, but that gap made him more afraid than he could recall being since he was a child. He wasn’t even sure what, exactly, he was afraid of—Jaehwan hurt? Jaehwan angry and scared? Jaehwan being dead in a ditch because Sanghyuk was too busy dancing to remember he’d made a casual personal safety agreement with someone who was regularly in unsafe situations?

“Hyung,” Sanghyuk said, forcing himself to sound calm and casual when he felt anything but. “Don’t you think you should call it a night?”

Hakyeon didn’t answer him; his eyes were closed because he was focused on the music and trying to move where his body wanted to carry him. Sanghyuk got to his feet.

“Well, I’m going home,” he said. “See you tomorrow.” He jammed his feet in his shoes and ran.

 _where are you?_ he texted Jaehwan urgently. _drop me a googlemaps pin or something!_ His heart was in his throat; the dance studio was on the north side of the campus, and Jaehwan lived off the west side. If he could keep up his pace, maybe he could make it in under ten.

His phone buzzed in his hand.

_Jyani: home. he’s still outside_

_Are you safe?_ Sanghyuk answered, relieved that at least he wasn’t dead.

_Jyani: he just tried to break the window with a rock, so probably no_

_Shouldn’t you call the police?!_

_Jyani: i can’t even turn on the lights_  
_Jyani: he’ll see me through the window_  
_Jyani: im sorry, i didn’t want to drag you into this shit_  
_Jyani: i didn’t know if anyone else would believe me_  
_Jyani: i'm really sorry hyukkie_

_Don’t be sorry,_ he replied instantly. _Just stay safe. I’m coming. Also, maybe call the police!_

Sanghyuk hit Jaehwan’s block in six minutes flat; the problem was immediately apparent. It was Guy, from PoliSci, and he was _drunk as fuck._ An already unpleasant human being, Guy had become significantly more than that; his nose was bleeding and his lip was split, presumably where Jaehwan had punched in the face, but he appeared to be too drunk to notice, because he was pounding on the door and screaming furiously.

 _I’m here._ he texted. _Stay inside._

_Jyani: please please please be fucking careful_  
_Jyani: don’t die, I like you a lot_

Sanghyuk had never been this angry before. It was a level of icy rage that made him feel both calm, and like someone was about to seriously regret every life choice they had ever made. Specifically the most recent one of ‘get drunk and scare the shit out of Jaehwan.’

He reached out and grabbed the back of Guy’s skull by his hair. A single hard downward jerk dragged him off the doorstep; a second yank combined with a low leg sweep had him on the pavement.

“Listen, you piece of shit,” Sanghyuk said calmly. “Sometimes you just need to let it fucking go, alright?”

“Says the uppity freshman shit fucking him now!” Guy spat. “He’s gonna throw you tomorrow like trash, he’s—”

Sanghyuk still felt calm, even as he was grabbing and holding Guy’s throat in a very unfriendly way.

“I’m only going to say this once, because you’re shit-faced and counting is hard,” he said, adding a hint of pressure. “Either you get lost, permanently, and never approach him again in any place or form, _or_ I break your nose worse than it already is, hopefully disfiguring you permanently in a manner that makes sure everyone knows you deserved it.”

“His mouth is that fucking good, right?” Guy gargled. 

“Wow,” Sanghyuk said. “No wonder you’re in freshmen classes. You’re an idiot.” With his free hand, he pulled back just enough to ensure the damage done already would be slightly worse; he’d been worried, years ago, that he would hurt someone on accident. Now, he wanted to hurt someone on purpose.

There was already some crunching, but it definitely crunched more once Sanghyuk’s fist hit Guy’s face. He released him to let him bleed on the pavement, walking up to Jaehwan’s door.

“It’s me,” he said. “Open up.” The door flew open to reveal Jaehwan; he was holding a bag of frozen peas, which he immediately offered Sanghyuk. Peering around him, Jaehwan saw Guy crumpled on the sidewalk, moaning.

“Who the fuck is that guy?” Jaehwan asked. Sanghyuk stared at him.

“He says you blew him at a choir party.”

“Uh,” Jaehwan said, “No, I definitely did not do that.”

“He seemed pretty convinced it was you.”

“I don’t go to those parties,” Jaehwan said. “I don’t drink and I don’t like drunk people. I stay for like an hour, then I go home. And I’ve never fucked anyone I wasn’t dating. Or trying to date. I would pinky swear, but I’m not sure if I broke my hand or not.”

“Well, you broke his nose, if that makes you feel any better,” Sanghyuk said, stepping inside and closing the door. He flipped on the entryway lights; Jaehwan sounded a lot better than he looked. Fear had clearly taken a toll on him, as well as more than a little anger, and his hand was a mess.

“Fuck, Jaehwan, your hand,” he said softly, reaching out to take it.

“I think most of this is his blood,” Jaehwan shrugged. “I couldn’t turn the lights on so I haven’t washed it off. Yours doesn’t look great either.”

“This is his,” Sanghyuk said. “Like I said, you broke his nose. I just broke it more.”

“Should I call the cops now?”

“Yeah, I think that’d be best. Let’s clean up though so they don’t think we picked a fight with him or something stupid.”

They turned, headed towards the bathroom, but something weird caught Sanghyuk’s eye: Jaehwan’s shirt was ripped, right at the collar.

“Wait, what’s this?” he asked, brushing at it with his fingers. Jaehwan pretended like he hadn’t heard anything; Sanghyuk put a gentle hand on Jaehwan’s cheek, forcing him to turn and face him.

“He grabbed me,” Jaehwan said flatly. “I’m fine.”

“He _grabbed you_?!” Sanghyuk said, feeling his anger flare again. “In what way?!”

“I think he was trying to kiss me, but I punched him before he got there. Turns out I have longer arms than him. Lucky me!”

Sanghyuk gripped Jaehwan’s chin perhaps a little too hard, because he winced. Upon release, the first thing he did was make the stupidest kissy face Sanghyuk had _ever seen._

“You swaved mwe!” he said. “My hewo!”

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to yell and punch and release all the ugliness that had bubbled up in the past fifteen minutes. But instead, he felt it all fall off him, sliding like the start of a rockslide: little pebbles bouncing, bigger rocks rolling, and finally the wave down the side of the mountain.

He laughed, and rested his forehead on Jaehwan’s.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he admitted quietly. He could feel Jaehwan sliding his hands around his waist, not-quite-hugging him. “I ran here from the dance studio.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d really come,” Jaehwan said. 

“Of course I’d come,” Sanghyuk said, mildly annoyed. “I said I would.”

“A man of his word,” Jaehwan said. “A true knight.”

“I just punched a guy in the face for the first time in my life,” Sanghyuk grumbled. “Not super interested in joking about it.”

“Thank you,” Jaehwan said, his arms pulling them together in what was definitely much more like a hug. “Really. Really really.” Sanghyuk let his not-punching hand go around Jaehwan’s narrow waist to pull him even closer. For what felt like simultaneously the longest and shortest moment of his existence, they just comfortably took up each other’s space.

“I should call the cops,” Jaehwan said, breaking the fragile peace of the moment.

“Please do,” Sanghyuk said. “His blood is going to stain your sidewalk.”

“Wash up,” Jaehwan told him. “Band-aids are in the cabinet.”

He walked out, and Sanghyuk grappled with the realization that he had just been violent towards a virtual stranger in defense of someone he increasingly cared about.

Deeply.

Shit.

 

Jaehwan liked to fuck around during dance practice. It drove Hakyeon up the wall, and it made any and all rehearsals drag on longer, but Sanghyuk would be lying if it wasn’t entertaining. It was especially amusing watching Hakyeon try and utterly fail to hide the fact that he was totally into Taekwoon.

Even more amusing, Sanghyuk was 90% sure that Taekwoon was interested back. Why they hadn’t just made out by now was anyone’s guess.

“My shoulders don’t _do that_ ,” Taekwoon grumbled after failing to execute a fairly simple roll.

“Watch Sanghyuk,” Hakyeon instructed him. Sanghyuk rolled beautifully, smiling smugly when Taekwoon glared at him. 

“That didn’t help,” Taekwoon said in something rapidly approaching a whine. Hakyeon came over with a huff, standing behind Taekwoon and planting a hand on either shoulder. Everyone watched with interest; the two of them touched rarely, but when they did, there was something inherently suspicious about it.

Sanghyuk and Hongbin had started a betting pool.

“When I push,” Hakyeon said, “Move it.” He pressed his hands, dragging along each shoulder to pull the motion out. It was totally unnecessary, and if Taekwoon had been planning it, Sanghyuk felt like he deserved some kind of praise for it.

“There,” Hakyeon said, pulling back his hands. “Just keep doing it like that.”

“I think he needs more help,” Jaehwan suggested innocently, hands locked behind his back and eyelashes fluttering. “Don’t you, Daeguni?” Sanghyuk barely smothered a laugh; Jaehwan was downright nefarious at times.

“YOUR FINGERS ARE A DISASTER JAEHWAN,” Hakyeon hollered. “FIX THEM BEFORE I BREAK THEM.”

He knew Hakyeon was joking; there was no way he could have known the truth. Even so, there was a flash of protectiveness that made him want to grab Hakyeon by the shoulder and shake him. Jaehwan’s fingers _were_ broken; at least two, near the second knuckle, and he hadn’t done anything about it except pretend they were fine. He actually _couldn’t_ fully extend his fingers on his right hand.

He refused to tell, or let Sanghyuk tell, anyone about it though, so he just took the criticism in silence.

“You need to tell him,” Sanghyuk said quietly on a water break. He reached into his bag and pulled out a couple of Chocopies. They sat down facing either other, legs crossed but knees touching. Sanghyuk opened one Chocopie and held it out for Jaehwan to bite; a broken hand made opening and holding his beloved sweets difficult, so Sanghyuk just did it for him, keeping his other hand underneath to catch crumbs. Jaehwan hummed as he chewed.

“M’fine,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food. He leaned in for another bite, and Sanghyuk helpfully held it closer to him.

“You’re not, though,” Sanghyk pointed out. Jaehwan got the final piece of Chocopie and Sanghyuk tried not to think about Jaehwan’s lips brushing against his fingers. There was a smudge of chocolate on Jaehwan’s mouth that Sanghyuk rubbed off with his thumb. For some reason, this made Jaehwan stiffen up and stare at him. 

“What was that for?”

“You had stuff on your face,” Sanghyuk said. “Now you don’t.” Jaehwan seemed to accept this, although he still looked slightly skeptical; Sanghyuk covered by opening and presenting the second Chocopie.

“’S none of his business anyway,” Jaehwan said. Sanghyuk frowned at him.

“Are you worried Hakyeon would... care about the rumors?” he said. “Jyani, he won’t care. At all. I guarantee it.”

“He’s a senior,” Jaehwan said. “He probably hasn’t heard them yet. It’d be a pain if he did.”

“But he _wouldn’t care._ ”

“He might think it’s funny,” Jaehwan said, looking at his bruised hand where it was resting in his lap. “He might tell everyone.”

“So just ask him not to?” Sanghyuk said, still baffled why Jaehwan was being so stubborn about this. “Pretty sure he’d be cool about it. I mean, as cool as Hakyeon-hyung can be, obviously.”

“It’s bad enough _you_ know,” Jaehwan pouted, reaching out for a bite, only to make a noise of protest when Sanghyuk abruptly withdrew his hand. 

“Why?” he asked, still frowning. “Why does that matter?”

“That’s—it’s just—” Jaehwan stuttered, unusually at a loss for words. Sanghyuk just stared, waiting for Jaehwan to regain control of his mouth again. It involved looking at his mouth quite closely, in particular the way he nervously wet his plush lips with his tongue. “I don’t want you thinking of me like that.”

“Like what?” Sanghyuk asked in confusion. “Like you’re sexy?”

“Like I’m easy,” Jaehwan corrected.

“So what if you were?” Sanghyuk shrugged. “Some people are; I don’t care.”

“Because _I_ care,” Jaehwan snapped, brittle. “It makes it sound like I don’t give a shit about who I sleep with, and I do.” Sanghyuk wasn’t used to seeing Jaehwan quite this... angry. He’d seen him pissed off a few times, but this years-long endurance of personal character assassination always ran even deeper than he thought. He put his hand under Jaehwan’s chin, lifting it from where it had fallen to his chest. He ran his thumb across Jaehwan’s lip again, but softly.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly. “I believe you, okay? I’m just saying, either way, it doesn’t change us.”

“Us?” Jaehwan said, eyes wide.

Fuck.

Sanghyuk froze, unsure of what to say. On the one hand, in his mind there definitely was an ‘us’ of some kind, although the exact details of what that meant were pretty hazy, and the excuse of a bet had fallen apart weeks ago without any notice. On the other, they hadn’t “negotiated” anything like Hakyeon encouraged them to do, or even casually mentioned it. The nebulous state of their relationship just hung, unspoken, unacknowledged, between them.

“Us,” Jaehwan repeated quietly. “So there’s an ‘us’ now.”

Sanghyuk winced. This really wasn’t the direction he wanted to go just now.

“BACK ON YOUR FEET KIDDOS,” Hakyeon yelled as he re-entered the room, presumably after standing outside and screaming in frustration for a while. “LET’S KNOCK THIS SHIT OUT TONIGHT.”

“We’re not done with this,” Jaehwan warned Sanghyuk quietly, snatching the Chocopie with his good hand and stuffing it in his mouth in one go.

 

“So,” Jaehwan said, sidling up to Sanghyuk as they were collecting their bags and leaving. “About before.”

Sanghyuk clenched his jaw. 

“I just wanted to clarify what you mean by ‘us’, exactly,” Jaehwan continued in a sing-song tone. He forcibly inserted his arm around Sanghyuk’s, so they were linked at the elbow. “It’s kind of funny because I hadn’t really thought about it—”

Sanghyuk stopped walking and Jaehwan was jerked backwards with a squawk. 

“Are you okay?” he asked after a moment of staring at Sanghyuk. He suspected his expression was fairly dark, because Jaehwan started to pull his arm back, but Sanghyuk wasn’t going to let that happen. He grabbed Jaehwan’s arm, sliding up to his wrist and caught the other hand in another smooth movement. Then in two large steps, he backed Jaehwan against the wall and pinned him (aware of his broken hand). He leaned in so close they were almost, _almost_ touching.

“You hadn’t thought about it?” Sanghyuk said, voice low and heavy. Jaehwan swallowed, that same bob of the throat that had caught his attention weeks ago. “You hadn’t thought about what I would do to you? What you would give me?”

“I—” Jaehwan started, but Sanghyuk was making a point and he wanted to finish it. He pressed them harder against the wall, a knee between Jaehwan’s thighs, wrists still held tight.

“You haven’t thought about me making you _scream_ , better than anyone else ever has?” he said, reaching for his deepest, most rumbly tone. Jaehwan was moving his head, biting his lip—

Sanghyuk let him go, taking three large steps back. He dropped it all: the power, the promise, the domination—all that Jaehwan got was a mild, generally pleased with the world smile and a shrug.

“That’s a shame,” Sanghyuk said. “I sure have.” He turned his back on Jaehwan and walked away. 

Maybe he’d given up on the seduction game a little too early after all.

 

“I don’t care,” Jaehwan said urgently, “I really don’t. I don’t care if anyone else notices.” They’d read this line a thousand times, and it never stopped making Sanghyuk’s heart skip. Jaehwan had proved to be a fantastic, emotive actor that drew him in against his better judgment; the line between character and reality was gradually starting to blur, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

“You said you hated me, didn’t you?” Sanghyuk said. Jaehwan reached out to put his hands on either side of Sanghyuk’s face. It was a new gesture; he’d never tried to touch before, but somehow in that moment it felt absolutely perfect. 

“It’s different now,” Jaehwan said, soft. “I’m different now.” 

“So it’s alright?” Sanghyuk asked. He leaned in so their faces were inches apart and _purred_ , “It’s alright if I change you?” It felt like the wall, like the heat and promise and unrestrained need that left Sanghyuk shaking as he retreated.

Change you, into someone who doesn’t just want me, but _needs_ me.

Sanghyuk heard Wonshik hiss, “Kiiiiiiissssss!”

Not yet.

 

It was becoming obvious that Sanghyuk’s advances were starting to take effect. For one thing, Jaehwan’s attention snapped to him instantly the moment he walked in the room. It didn’t stay on him for long, but his eyes would wander and then come back, rewetting his lips with his tongue.

Not even three days later, Jaehwan followed him towards the door, then grabbed the back of Sanghyuk’s hoodie and pulled. It didn’t do much, considering Sanghyuk was basically an oak to Jaehwan’s willow, but he stopped walking. Jaehwan whipped around to stand in front of him, running his hands up Sanghyuk’s front.

“Again,” he demanded, trying to walk them backwards and failing when Sanghyuk simply didn’t move. “Do it again.”

“Do what?” Sanghyuk asked mildly, deliberately obtuse. Jaehwan made an extremely frustrated noise and tugged on him again, pouting.

“The wall!” he whined. “The wall thing!”

“Oh,” Sanghyuk said. “That.” Before Jaehwan could react in any way, Sanghyuk grabbed him by his narrow waist, lifted him, and backed them up against the wall again. Jaehwan rather unexpectedly wrapped his legs around Sanghyuk’s waist, making pinning his wrists again feel a bit redundant, but Sanghyuk didn’t mind it that much.

“Did you think about me yet?” he purred in Jaehwan’s ear. He made a noise somewhere between a whine and a moan; it sent a thrill straight down Sanghyuk’s spine. Jaehwan rolled his head back, and his neck was a temptation that absolutely no part of Sanghyuk had the ability to resist. He turned his head and kissed at his throat, scraping skin with teeth and letting himself be a little rougher than he might otherwise be. He was rewarded for his efforts by a genuine, full-blown moan as Jaehwan tried to get his wrists free. Sanghyuk let him, using his now-empty hands to hold Jaehwan up by his thighs; he felt fingers twisting in his hair.

When his mouth found the place where Jaehwan’s neck met his shoulder, he bit down and sucked, fully intent on leaving a mark. The fingers in his hair tightened and he could feel Jaehwan gasp. He soothed the spot with his tongue, messy and wet, before lifting his head. He narrowly dodged Jaehwan’s attempt to kiss him; abruptly, he let go of Jaehwan’s legs and pulled out his hold. Jaehwan didn’t fall, but he did stumble.

“Where are you _going?!_ ” Jaehwan shrieked, reaching out with both hands in a desperate motion.

“Home,” Sanghyuk said with a shrug. “I’ve got stuff to do. See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!?” Jaehwan wailed. “ _Tomorrow?!_ ”

“Yep,” Sanghyuk grinned as he walked out. 

 

Maybe he’d ramped up the burn a little faster than he’d expected, because Jaehwan texted him at close to midnight as he was lying in bed, almost asleep.

_Jyani: hypothetically_  
_Jyani: If I sent you nudes, would that help_  
_Jyani: and would you also send me nudes_  
_Jyani: not that I will_  
_Jyani: but hypothetically_

Sanghyuk considered the offer.

 _Sounds like you’re thinking about me,_ he said, barely holding back from adding a winky face.

_Jyani: maybe_  
_Jyani: ;)_

Sanghyuk rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

_How about this: you can pick one thing to see, but only one, and I get one back._

_Jyani: I pick your body_  
_Jyani: you only have one of those_

_Nice try,_ Sanghyuk replied with a snort. _Last chance._

_Jyani: ABS_  
_Jyani: I CHOOSE ABS_  
_Jyani: I KNOW YOU HAVE THEM, SHARE_

He did, but getting a good angle and a good light at midnight was going to prove troublesome, especially if he intended to avoid getting a shot of his dick at the same time.

Jaehwan was going to have to work a little harder for that.

He managed to find an angle he liked, with sufficient lighting to make everything pop a little more. Sanghyuk hadn’t been to the gym as often this term as last, due to the play and Jaehwan devouring what little free time he had, but it was often enough to mostly maintain himself. He sent the picture with no regrets.

_Jyani: hLOY SHIT_  
_Jyani: i knew it, I fuckig knew it_  
_Jyani: WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME_

Sanghyuk was more than a little pleased with himself after that response. It was one thing to look at yourself and appreciate what you see; it was another to have someone appreciate it with you. Enthusiastically.

 _My turn_ , he reminded Jaehwan.

_Jyani: Hit me_  
_Jyani: I mean not literally_  
_Jyani: well okay maybe literally but not right now_

_I want to see your neck,_ Sanghyuk said, remembering the taste of Jaehwan’s skin and the way he gasped, thighs around Sanghuk’s waist and fingers in his hair. _Show me the mark._

For a while, he got no response and he figured that Jaehwan had either chickened out, fallen asleep, or both. He started to drift off himself, but was woken up by his phone buzzing in his hand. He flipped up the lock screen and held his breath.

Sanghyuk had no idea how many filters Jaehwan must have used to do it, but his neck was a pale column tinged lavender and the bite mark stood out, almost the color of port wine. Along the edge of the picture was the crisp line of his jaw, and the bare upper arm coming off his shoulder was unexpectedly toned.

 _You’re beautiful,_ Sanghyuk sent in reply before he could reconsider. His heart was thumping in his chest and there was something absolutely thrilling about seeing that bite, knowing he did it, knowing Jaehwan spent time looking at it, framing it, filtering it, just to show Sanghyuk how much he liked it.

_Jyani: How about you tell me more about that tomorrow?_  
_Jyani: ;)_

_I’ll do more than tell,_ Sanghyuk sent back. Then, impulsively, added, _;)_

 

The next day, to his utter delight, Sanghyuk discovered Jaehwan had done absolutely nothing to cover or hide the very obvious bite mark in any way whatsoever. He wasn’t sure if Jaehwan was too lazy, or wanted people to know, but either way it was a win for Sanghyuk. He came up behind Jaehwan and put his hand on the base of Jaehwan’s beautiful, marked neck and squeezed.

Jaehwan _shuddered_ , his jaw going slack, eyes closing, and shoulders curling. It was such an extreme reaction to such a small thing, Sanghyuk instantly memorized his exact finger placement so he could do it again on the sly. When the shiver worked its way out of him, Jaehwan leaned his head back until he could see Sanghyuk, then he fucking _smiled_.

When had he become the kind of guy whose knees went week just because somebody flashed them a pretty grin?

He threw himself down in the seat next to Jaehwan, not at all opposed to the way Jaehwan leaned into him.

“I liked your picture,” Jaehwan said conversationally, as if he hadn’t been actively fishing for nudes twelve hours ago.

“Who knew we had photography in common?” Sanghyuk said with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Maybe we should collaborate sometime.” He let his hand fall back to rest on Jaehwan’s neck again, brushing his thumb against the bite in the tiniest of movements. He could see the goosebumps on Jaehwan’s arm.

As soon as rehearsal ended, Jaehwan was noticeably hanging back, waiting for Sanghyuk. The second Hakyeon disappeared from the doorway, Jaehwan whipped around and went straight for him. Sanghyuk’s shoulders hit the wall at the same time as he felt Jaehwan’s hands slide under his shirt and skate across his stomach. Sanghyuk would have allowed that, but then those hands started to wander a little too far south towards his belt, and that was quite simply against the rules.

Sanghyuk grabbed Jaehwan’s wrists, flipped their positions, and held his arms over his head.

“Excuse you,” he said, “Who told you you could just help yourself?”

“I saved the picture on my phone,” Jaehwan said. “I almost made it my background _and_ lockscreen, but I managed to keep it just to the background.”

“You’re going to get us caught.”

“Your face isn’t in it and nobody except me knows you’re delicious,” Jaehwan pointed out with a borderline-obnoxious whine. “Can’t I at least see the real thing?”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Sanghyuk purred at him. “But you have to ask first.”

“Can I—”

“Wait, I take that back,” Sanghyuk said. “I have a better idea.” He pulled Jaehwan off the wall, then released him, putting his hands on Jaehwan’s shoulders and pushing down. It wasn’t enough to slam him to the floor, but he was on his knees pretty fast, and he’d instinctively slowed his descent by bracing his hands on Sanghyuk’s thighs.

“Now you can ask,” Sanghyuk said, running a hand through Jaehwan’s hair before dropping a hand to press his thumb against those temptingly full lips. “From your knees.”

The fact that Jaehwan _swallowing_ had become such a turn on for him was almost upsetting.

“So,” he asked conversationally, “Did you think about me?”

“Yes,” Jaehwan said instantly. His hands were exploring Sanghyuk’s thighs, but he never broke eye contact.

“What did you do, thinking about me?” Sanghyuk asked, still conversational. Jaehwan swallowed _again_ and fuck, between that and the groping, he was starting to get hard.

“I can show you,” Jaehwan said with a smirk. “ _Please._

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Sanghyuk agreed with a smile. Jaehwan grinned at him, half mega-watt-sunshine, half up to something. Still on his knees, Jaehwan’s hands skirted upwards, narrowly avoiding his groin, and pushed his shirt up until his stomach was in full view. Before Sanghyuk had time to figure out what he was up to, Jaehwan was leaving forwards and licking his abs like he was Jaehwan favorite ice cream cone. He mixed in a fair few fluttering kisses and scraping of teeth, but mostly his mouth just roamed. Both of Sanghyuk’s hands were in Jaehwan’s hair, resting gently; Jaehwan’s mouth was so hot, so intense like this, his head fell back against the wall. Jaehwan dipped his tongue in Sanghyuk’s navel and he groaned.

He felt the little puffs of air that were Jaehwan snickering against his skin. Without thinking, he gave Jaehwan’s cheek the lightest of smacks, reminding him not to get too cocky. Jaehwan made a little sound of pleasure that Sanghyuk filed away for later.

The sound of the door opening jerked them both out of their reverie; Taekwoon was standing there looking both embarrassed and mildly disgusted. He immediately turned around and drooped, making a noise that suggested he would prefer to die than be in the current situation.

“I forgot my script,” he managed. “Just—just hand it to me so I can leave.”

“We can explain—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Taekwoon squeaked urgently. “I don’t want to know. Just hand me my script.”

Sanghyuk helped Jaehwan stand, then watched him jog over to where they’d been working, finding the script next to a folding chair. Wordlessly, he held it out and tapped it against Taekwoon’s chest. He snatched it and ran.

“Well,” Sanghyuk said with a sigh, “Now everyone will know.”

“Are you joking?” Jaehwan said, gaping at him. “Nobody will know anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t talk,” Jaehwan explained, gesturing at the door. “If it makes him nervous or uncomfortable, he just avoids it entirely.”

“That’s... convenient.”

“We probably traumatized him,” Jaehwan said, sounding somewhat remorseful. “I feel kind of bad.”

“Bad enough to stop?” Sanghyuk asked. Jaehwan’s shoulders heaved with a big sigh.

“Kind of,” he said; Sanghyuk couldn’t help mirroring Jaehwan’s disappointment. It had been sort of a mood killer, sure, but they could work their way back up pretty quickly if they wanted to. Except... apparently Jaehwan didn’t want to. Sanghyuk reached out a hand to catch Jaehwan’s non-broken one and pull him close. He wasn’t generally a hugger, but Jaehwan just had a softness to him that made Sanghyuk want to be soft too.

“Did I push you?” he asked quietly, unsure. 

“What?” Jaehwan asked, melting into the hug. “No, of course not.”

“If I did—”

“I would have punched you,” Jaehwan said. “Even if you are a goddamn column of muscle.”

“You can tell me to chill,” Sanghyuk informed him. “I’ll listen.”

“Noted,” Jaehwan said, grinning. “I probably won’t want you to, though.”

“Except for now.”

“Well, yeah,” Jaehwan said, sighing again. “Except for now. As usual, Daeguni makes things weird.”

“If we wanted to pick this back up at another time,” Sanghyuk said, surprisingly enjoying Jaehwan in his arms, “Would that be cool?”

“I don’t know,” Jaehwan said. His tone had gone playfully whiny. “I mean, I asked for your nudes _so nicely_ and you didn’t even give me _one._ ”

“Maybe I’m shy,” Sanghyuk suggested even though he absolutely was not. Well, not with Jaehwan, at least. Jaewhan pulled a stupid face at him and for some reason (one he couldn’t identify even days later) Sanghyuk impulsively kissed him on the cheek. Jaehwan gaped at him; it made him feel kind of shitty, because surely he’d given Jaehwan enough reason to know he...

...liked him.

“...No?” he asked quietly, the shitty feeling in his chest intensifying. “Sorry.”

“You kissed me?” Jaehwan squeaked. “You kissed me!”

“I’m sorry!” Sanghyuk said sincerely. “I thought—I just—”

“DO IT AGAIN!” Jaehwan demanded, turning his head to present his cheek. When he didn’t immediately get one, he tapped it impatiently and pouted. Sanghyuk obliged him, dropping a peck where Jaehwan indicated.

“Again,” Jaehwan said, turning his head to present the other cheek, still impatient. Another peck, and he made an excited, wordless noise. Sanghyuk wasn’t entirely clear what he was so excited _about_ , since they were just soft, chaste little things, not even properly on the lips, but he couldn’t help doing it if it made Jaehwan that happy.

If he thought about it, there were actually kind of a lot of things he’d do just because they made Jaehwan happy.

Just for good measure, he also kissed Jaehwan on the forehead. He made the excited noise again, then tugged on Sanghyuk’s collar to yank his head down low enough to get a return kiss, on the cheekbone just under his eye.

“You’re cute,” Jaehwan informed him with a radiant smile. “You’re a borderline beefcake, but you’re also cute.”

“Thanks?” Sanghyuk said hesitantly. “I think?” Jaehwan dropped another peck on his chin before stepping back, out of Sanghyuk’s arms. Instinctively, Sanghyuk reached for him to pull him back, but Jaehwan was too quick for him.

“I’m going to my singing lesson,” he said, still beaming. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sanghyuk said. “See you.”

He tried not to think about how cold he felt without Jaehwan in his arms.

 

_Jyani: Hyukkie, are you awake?_

Sanghyuk rolled over on his side. He felt a stab of worry; was Jaehwan okay?

_I wasn’t, but now I am._

_Jyani: Sorry_  
_Jyani: I had a question._

_That couldn’t wait for tomorrow?_ Sanghyuk rolled his eyes.

_Jyani: No, because I’m a big chicken and I couldn’t do it._

_Do what?_ he sent back, confusion floating through his still mostly-sleep-fogged brain. 

_Jyani: do you like me?_

_As a person?_ Sanghyuk said, aware he was sidestepping the question but unsure he could answer in a cool way when his heart had started thundering in his ears. What was this, junior high school? Why was he so nervous to admit it?

_Jyani: sure_  
_Jyani: as a person, okay_  
_Jyani: actually never mind, it’s not important_  
_Jyani: Forget it, sleep, see you tomorrow._

Fuck that.

 _I like you,_ he replied. _Thought that was pretty obvious with the whole seduction thing._

_Jyani: I’m not asking if you’d sleep with me_  
_Jyani: I’m asking if you’d date me_  
_Jyani: I already know you’d sleep with me_

Yes. Absolutely. Instantly. Starting from right now, or yesterday, or from the first day they’d met. He’d hang out on a beanbag chair with Jaehwan curled up on him, devouring his pizza. He’d walk him to and from class just because he wanted to be around him. He’d listen to Jaehwan sing and wrap his arms around his waist and kiss him, constantly, because he wanted to taste that smile and see if it was as warm on his tongue as it was in his heart.

 _I said us,_ he reminded Jaehwan. _I meant us._

_Jyani: wait_  
_Jyani: are you serious?_  
_Jyani: You’d date me?!_

Why was he so surprised? Was Sanghyuk that bad at communicating his feelings to Jaehwan? Or was Jaehwan just that dense about his effect on people, Sanghyuk in particular?

 _Yeah,_ Sanghyuk said. _When can I start?_

_Jyani: ✧*｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*｡_

_Jesus Christ,_ Sanghyuk said, staring at the emoji in shock. _How long did it take you to type that?_

_Jyani: I’ll teach you tomorrow_  
_Jyani: babe ;)_  
_Jyani: can I call you babe btw_

_I’m going back to sleep,_ he said, unable to wipe the grin off his face. _See you tomorrow._

_Babe._

 

Sanghyuk was not entirely prepared for the degree of possessiveness he now felt know that he and Jaehwan were “official”. It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if Jaehwan wasn’t just a shameless flirt at times, or if people loved him a little less, but the combination meant that suddenly absolutely everyone that spoke to Jaehwan immediately felt like a threat to their relationship that needed addressing. It wasn’t that he thought Jaehwan would cheat or anything, but he still felt like he had to draw the line around Jaehwan and demand that no one else even attempt to cross it.

It particularly flared up around people that were quite affectionate towards Jaehwan. Like goddamn Wonshik, who was just friendly enough to worry him. He came across them after a quick water break; sitting on the newly built stage, Wonshik was leaning on Jaehwan quite heavily, and Jaehwan was talking to him. After a moment, Wonshik stood up, looking determined.

“Goodbye Jaehwan,” Wonshik said. “I need to—ask a guy out on a date.”

“Have fun!” Jaehwan said. Wonshik waved over his shoulder, nearly colliding with Sanghyuk. Aware that his expression was less than friendly, he put a (heavy, strong) hand on Wonshik’s shoulder.

“I like you,” Sanghyuk said with a smile that did not quite suit the way he was trying to casually dislocate Wonshik’s shoulder with his palm. “So I’m only going to say this once. Flirt with Jaehwan all you like, but don’t take things any farther than that, yeah?”

“Uh,” said Wonshik, returning the smile with fear in his eyes. “Sure, got it.”

“Great,” Sanghyuk said, releasing him and heading in Jaehwan’s direction. He sat down next to—his boyfriend?—heavily, and Jaehwan immediately leaned into him.

“Hyukkie,” Jaehwan said, putting a warm hand quite high up Sanghyuk’s thigh. “You look pissed.”

“I am a little pissed,” he confessed. Jaehwan patted his thigh at the same time as sliding it even further towards Sanghyuk’s crotch. Sanghyuk looked at the wandering touch quite pointedly, and Jaehwan sheepishly moved it to his knee instead.

“Why?” he asked, tone light and chirpy. “Isn’t everything wonderful now?”

“I—” Sanghyuk started, unsure whether he should actually explain himself or not. On the one hand, it was a petty thing that didn’t really matter in the overall scheme of things. On the other, if they were going to call themselves a for-real couple, wasn’t he supposed to share his feelings and stuff?

Jaehwan lifted his head to peck Sanghyuk on the cheek, adding a very quiet and very smug, “ _Babe._ ”

“I really don’t like people hitting on you,” he admitted. “Or touching you. Especially people I know you like.”

“Is this about Wonshikkie?” Jaehwan snorted. “Don’t worry about him; he’s desperately in love with Hongbin.”

“Is Hongbin in love with him?” Sanghyuk asked, somewhat surprised that a guy like Wonshik could snag a guy like Hongbin.

“Probably,” Jaehwan shrugged. “I mean—Wonshik is really a sweet kid.”

Sanghyuk frowned; Jaehwan pushed at the wrinkle between his eyes with a thumb.

“Don’t be jealous Hyukkie,” Jaehwan scolded him. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not jealous,” Sanghyuk corrected. “I’m pissed.” He was not expecting Jaehwan to move so quickly; one second he was trying to rub out the irritation between Sanghyuk’s eyebrows, the next he’d knocked Sanghyuk on his back and straddled him. He planted his hands on either side of Sanghyuk’s head and beamed at him.

“Don’t be pissed,” Jaehwan said, radiant. “You have me, after all.” Sanghyuk put one hand on Jaehwan’s waist, and the other cupped his cheek.

“That _is_ pretty great,” he said with a grin.

“Question,” Jaehwan said, leaning down.

“Answer,” Sanghyuk replied seriously.

“If I asked for your nudes _now_ , can I have them?” He added an extremely exaggerated pout for good measure, which Sanghyuk felt was both unfair and uncalled for, so he put both hands on Jaehwan’s face and pulled him down.

“Who needs nudes?” he said with a grin. “You can have the real thing, if you want.”

“I’m going to be completely honest here,” Jaehwan said, still pouting. “I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly.”

Sanghyuk reached a hand down to grab that jelly; he pinched, and Jaehwan squeaked and swatted his hand away. It did not in the slightest discourage him from doing exactly the same thing with the other hand.

“Rude,” Jaehwan sniffed. Sanghyuk just smiled at him, debating going in for a third before he remembered.

“Oh, I forgot,” he said. “I have something for you.”

“Is it a nude?”

“I’m pretty sure you will enjoy it more than a nude,” Sanghyuk said. Jaehwan looked incredibly skeptical, but got off anyway. Sanghyuk dragged his backpack over, digging between books, notebooks, Snickers (which seemed to be breeding in his bag ever since he first gave some to Jaehwan weeks ago) and finally found what he was looking for. With great exaggerated ceremony, he pulled out square box, with a slightly-crushed bow on top. Jaehwan grabbed it eagerly, ripping off the sloppy wrapping paper job to reveal a novelty fist-sized Hershey Kiss.

“I figured since you got so excited over the little ones, a big one might make your head explode,” Sanghyuk explained as Jaehwan stared at the chocolate with undisguised and unrestrained joy.

“You’re right,” he said breathlessly. “This is better than a nude.”

Sanghyuk laughed.

 

“I don’t care,” Jaehwan said urgently, “I really don’t. I don’t care if anyone else notices.”

“You said you hated me, didn’t you?” Sanghyuk said. Jaehwan reached out to put his hands on either side of Sanghyuk’s face. The audience was silent, hanging on their every word.

“It’s different now,” he said, soft. “I’m different now.” Weeks and weeks of practice, building this heat between them.

“So it’s alright?” Sanghyuk asked. He leaned in so their faces were inches apart and _purred_ , “It’s alright if I change you?”

Jaehwan was so close, so warm, so tempting—Sanghyuk closed the distance and kissed him, fully on the mouth, pleased with how quickly Jaehwan was opening to him. The kiss deepened and he felt Jaehwan’s knees go weak, so he wrapped his arms around that narrow waist and held him up. Jaehwan’s lips were just as soft and plush as they looked, and he planned to spend many, many hours devouring them. How had he managed not to do this until now? How had he _survived_ without this until now? How could he possibly be placated and sustained with chaste little pecks when he could have been tasting the sweets inside Jaehwan’s mouth?

The audience gasped. They broke apart because breathing was, apparently, required for life.

“We fucking _won_ ,” Jaehwan whispered against his mouth, delighted. Sanghyuk grinned.


End file.
